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North Carolina H 











A. MioiVTHi^Y :m:jlga.ztis:ei 




MAY- --OCTOBER, lS67-'68 




Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2011 with funding from 

LYRASIS members and Sloan Foundation 


American Conflict, 136 

Ariel, 26& 

Asliby, Gen. Turner, Sketch of 287 


Battle of Mansfield, 459 
Book Notices, 190, 285, 376, 452 


Comparative Generalship, * 193 , 292 

Cicero's Oration for Marcellus, 241 

Chicago",- 469 


Dancing Under Shells, 477 

Daniel, Gen. Junius, Sketch of ' 97 

Decay of Keligion in the South, 202, 299 

Demoralized "Weeklies, 76 

Dickens' Dinner, 323 

Dickens and his Debt of Honor, 414 

E ^ 

Editorial, . 91, 186, 279, 362, 444, 538 

Empress Eugenia, " 435 

English Gang Labor System, 316 


Franklin, The State of 13, 109, 216 



Grave of Marshal Ney, 

Goethe and Schiller, A few thoughts on 




Helen Ashley^ 

84, 175, 27-1, 352, 438, 530 

Industrial Combinations, 


John Smith, Esq., 


Lacon and its Author, 


Lee at the Wilderness, 


Lime as a Fertilizer, 






Mary Ashburton, 

38, 125, 231,330,407,480 

Missouri Campaign, Gen. Price's Keport, 


Model Plousekeeping, 


Morgan, Gen. John H., Burial of 



Xash, Chief Justice, Sketch of 



On the Heights, 

Only Son of His Mother, 

Orange Culture, 


Our Life in Books, 


Pare Mouceaux, Paris, 

Personal Kecollections of Eminent Men, 

119, 337 



Bamseur, Maj. Gen. S. D., Sketch of 1 


Sheep Husbandry, 340 

Suez Canal, 400 


Tomb of Kapoleon, ' 70 


Westminster Abbey, 498 

Young Africa, The Future of 523 

:e> o ^ rr Ti ^T 

Alpine Picture, ' - - \ . . - 68 

Cecil, - ^ - - - - - 433 

Farmer Bumbleby, • - - - - , - 122 

Fire-Fly, . . . . . 323 

Julia Jackson, - - . . . _ 393 

Nature's Lesson, - - - - - 106 

Kothing to Eat, - ^ t - - - 156 

Old Man's Yesterday, , - - - - 328 

Poor Tom, - ' - ... - - 23 

Realm of Enchantment, . . - - H 

Serenade, - ,- - - - - 413 

Seven Pines, ... - - 35 

Soldier Son, - - - - - - 229 

St. Michael's Bells, .... - 476 

Stonewall Jackson, - - - - - 291 


storm and Calm, - - - - _ 215 

Tell the Boys I'm coming Soon, - - - - 51 

The Change, - _ . . . 479 

The Ehine, - - - - - . 201 

Transition, - - - - - 466 

Under the Lava, - - - - - " 117 

FA 6M1 G LT (3) F [H! €■ PS a J E F Wa BAY ■ 

E-n^''bv-RW]ntechuTch for 



No. I. 

MAY, 1868. 

Vol. V. 


Major General S. D. Ram- 
SBUR was born in the village of 
Lincoln ton, N. C, on the 31st of 
May, 1837. He was the second 
child of Jacob A. and Lucy M. 
Eamseur. His parents were 
members of the Presbyterian 
Church, and he was bred under 
religious influences. The circum- 
stances of his childhood, were 
those best adapted to develop his 
character most favorably. His 
parents possessing ample means 
to give their children all necessary 
social and intellectual advantages, 
relieved them on the one hand 
from the ills of poverty, while on 
the other, they preserved them 
from the enervating and corrupt- 
ing allurements of an artificial 
and worldly life.* Having re- 
ceived his elementary education 
in the schools of Lincolnton, and 
the village of Milton, in his native 
State, he sought an appointment 
in the Military Academy, at 
West Point. Failing in this ef- 
fort, he entered the freshman 
class, in Davidson College, K. C. 

VOL. Y. NO. I. 

At this institution he spent about 
eighteen months, but he had 
early chosen arms as his profes- 
sion, and the opportunity again 
recurring, he determined to apply 
again for a Cadet- ship. En- 
couraged and aided by General 
D. H. Hill, at that time Professor 
of Mathematics, in the College, 
and who recommended him to the 
notice of the Hon. Burton Craige, 
he succeeded in gaining the eager- 
ly desired appointment. 

At West Point he remained five 
years, an additional year having 
been added to the course, while 
he was a student there. He was 
graduated in 1860. 

By his courtesy, high-toned in- 
tegrity and sterling worth, he 
made many warm personal friends, 
both among his brother cadets 
and in the professional staff". Of 
the branches of the service left to 
his choice, he preferred the Light 
Artillery, and in this was com- 
missioned second Lieutenant by 

It will be seen that the young 


Sketcli of Major General S. D. Bamseur. 


Lieutenant was in the United 
States army but a short time be- 
fore the breaking out of hostilities 
between the ISTorth and South, and 
this period — from June, 18C0, to 
April, 1861— he spent in the per- 
formance of his duties at Fortress 
Monroe. In April, 1861, after 
the bursting of the storm-cloud. 
Lieutenant Ramseur resigned his 
commission in the army, and ten- 
dered his services to the newly- 
formed government at Montgom- 
ery. On the 22nd of the same 
month, he was commissioned 1st 
Lieutenant of Artillery, and or- 
dered to the Mississippi. But 
whilst on his way to his new post, 
he recieved a telegram announ- 
cing his election to a captaincy of 
the " Ellis Light Artillery." 

This was a battery composed of 
the first young men in his State, 
and was then in formation at the 

Captain Ramseur now repaired 
with all haste to Ealeigh, where, 
by his energy and activity, he 
soon secured the requisite num- 
ber of guns, horses and other 
equipments necessary for a thor- 
oughly-appointed battery; and in 
a very short time he had his full 
complement of men. At "Camp 
Boylan," near Ealeigh, he drilled 
and practiced his battery for some 
time, and brought it to such a 
state of perfection that it became 
the pride of our State. 

Bat the people began to ask 
why he did not go to the front. — 
Troops from all the Southern 
States had been passing through 
Ealeigh, and hastening on to Vir- 
ginia, but the " Ellis Artillery" 
was still going through its daily 
drills. The citizens, who had 

not become well acquainted with 
the young commander, began to 
think that this was a holiday 
company, and one of the papers 
j)ublished at the Capital, spoke 
somewhat derisively of Captain 
Eamseur's artillery, as the " Par- 
lor Battery." Inquiries were made 
by the authorities at Eichmond, 
to which place the seat of the Con- 
federate Government had been re- 
moved, as to when the battery 
would be in readiness. No defi- 
nite answer could be returned — 
Captain Eamseur said that his 
command had not yet attained 
the proficiency which he desired, 
and the drilling and reviewing 
continued. Some of Eamseur's 
friends thought that he had been 
tardy in resigning his commission 
in the old service, and they now 
thought him censurably slow in 
taking the field. In both of these 
opinions they were wroug. In 
the one case, before giving up his 
commission, the young ofiicer was 
determined to wait until every 
effort of the South to avert the 
strife had proven futile; and in 
the other, now that he had drawn 
his sword in our cause, he was as 
fully determined that, when he 
went to the contest, its prowess 
should be recognized. And the 
record of the "Ellis Light Artil- 
lery" affords a favorable comment 
on his decision of purpose. 

At last he was ready, and late 
in the summer of 1861, his battery 
proceeded to Virginia. He was 
stationed near Southfield on the 
South side of the James, and spent 
the fall and winter months in 
camp at that place, or in *occa- 
sional movements to and from 


Sketch of Major General S. D. Bamsexir. 

At all of the reviews of the 
army in the department of Nor- 
folk, this battery was the cynosure 
of attraction; and its beautiful 
evolutions and proficiency in drill- 
ing gained for the youthful com- 
mander many encomiums from 
the reviewing generals. 

In the Spring of 1862,, when 
Richmond was threatened by 
McClellan's advance, up the Pen- 
insula, Captain Ramseur was 
ordered to report, with his battery, 
to General Magruder, at York- 
town. "It had the honor, there- 
fore, of forming a part of that 
little army of about 7,000 or 8,000, 
which, by the masterly activity of 
its General, was made to repre- 
sent such a formidable front, that 
the opposing force, (which has 
been variously estimated at from 
^40,000 to 160,000) was deceived 
into a halt, which continued until 
the arrival of the "Army of 
Northern Yirginia," under Jos. 
E. Johnston. 

General Magruder had known 
the meritorious young officer when 
they were both in the service of 
the United States; and he, there- 
fore, deiached him from his favor- 
ite battery, to place him in com- 
mand of the artillery of the right 
wing. It was here that Major 
Ramseur, who had now been pro- 
moted, saw his first active service. 

Before any serious fighting oc- 
curred on the Peninsula, Major 
Ramseur was elected to the 
Colonelcy of the 4:9th ISTorth Caro- 
lina infantry, and although he 
regretted to dissever his connec- 
tion with the artillery, he ac- 
cepted the new promotion. The 
" Ellis Artillery," however, under 
ithe gallant leadership of Captain 

Manly, a short time afterwards, 
at the battle of Williamsburg, 
won its first laurels, which con- 
tinued to brighten till the close of 
the war. 

The regiment of which Colonel 
Ramseur now took command, was 
composed altogether of new men, 
men who had just enlisted. But, 
by the exercise of his knowledge 
of infantry tactics, the young 
commander, at an early day, had 
it prepared for the front. The 
49th belonged to Ransom's brig- 
ade of Huger's division, and saw 
its first service in the skirmishes 
which preceded the opening bat- 
tles before Richmond. Encour- 
aged by the fearless intrepidity of 
its commander, this body of men, 
from the very outset, rendered 
most signal service. It went 
through the series of battles mem- 
orable as the " seven day's fight- 
ing," and in the last of these, at 
Malvern Hill, on the 1st of July, 
whilst leading a victorious charge, 
the young Colonel was wounded. 
He was shot through the right 
arm, above the elbow, and that 
night, after the battle, was borne 
to Richmond, and carried to the 
house of Mr. M. S. Valentine. 
Here he met with every possible 
kind attention, but the nature of 
his wound was such, that more 
than a month elapsed before he 
could travel to his home in North 

Whilst at home, and before he 
had sufficiently convalesced to 
return to the field. Colonel Ram- 
seur received his commission as 
Brigadier General. He now 
thought that promotion was com- 
ing too rapidly, and felt seriously 
disinclined to accept this newly 


Sketch of Major General S. D. Bamseur. 


oifered compliment. But at tlie 
earnest request of his friends, 
who had a higher opinion of his 
capacity, than he himself had, he 
reluctantly accepted the increased 
rank. It is a commentary both 
on the innate bravery of his regi- 
ment, and the fearlessness of its 
commander, that this officer was 
promoted immediately after lead- 
ing a new command into its com- 
paratively first fight. 

In October, 1862— though un- 
able to use his right hand, even in 
writing — he repaired to Richmond 
in order to make a decision in re- 
gard to the brigade which had 
been offered him. He called on 
President Davis, and explained to 
him his delicacy in accepting the 
exalted rank that had been con- 
ferred upon him, but the President 
insisted that he should take the 
commission, telling him, at the 
same time to return to his home 
until he was entirely restored to 
health. But General Ramseur, 
instead of returning to North 
Carolina, sought out the army, 
and took command of the brigade 
which had been left without a 
general officer, by the death of 
the gallant George B. Anderson. 
His arrival at his new command, 
was thus spoken of afterwards, at 
a meeting of condolence, held in 
Lincolnton, on the 31st of October, 
1864. It is an extract from a 
speech delivered by Colonel By- 

"Assigned to a command in 
which I served, I knew him well. 
He succeeded the lamented Gen. 
Anderson, an officer of great abil- 
ities, and well skilled in the art of 
war, commanding the love and 

confidence of his men. His was a 
place not easily filled. 

" General Ramseur came to the 
brigade, a stranger, from another 
branch of the service ; but he at 
once disarmed criticism by his 
high professional attainment and 
great amiability of character, in- 
spiring his men, by his own en- 
thusiastic nature, with those lofty 
martial qualities which distin- 
guish the true Southern soldier." 

This brigade, composed of the 
2nd, 4th, 14th and 30th North 
Carolina regiments, then attached 
to Jackson's corps, was command- 
ed by General Ramseur at th& 
battle of Chancellorsville, where 
he was again wounded in the foot 
by a shell, whilst leading a suc- 
cessful charge upon the enemy's 
works. This second wound did 
not take him from the field, but 
he continued with his brigade, 
and shortly afterwards accompan- 
ied it through the Pennsylvania 
campaign. In the battle of Get- 
tysburg he acted with conspicu- 
ous gallantry — his brigade being^ 
among the first to enter the cap- 
tured town. Here he won, by his 
courage and military deportment, 
the highest esteem and warmest 
admiration of the division, corps, 
and army commanders. 

After the return of the army 
from Pennsylvania, and when 
there seemed to be a peaceful lull 
in the terrible war, and when the 
division to which General Ram- 
seur's brigade belonged was pre- 
paring to go into winter quarters, 
near Orange Court House, he ob- 
tained leave of absence for the 
purpose of being married. He 
had long been engaged to Miss 
Ellen E. Richmond, of Milton, N. 


Sketch of Major General S. D. Bamseur. 

C, and on the 27th of October, 
1863, they were united in mar- 
riage. Spending some time at the 
house of his wife's mother and at 
his home in Lincolnton, he again 
repaired to his brigade. 

The winter of '63 and '64 was 
spent in comparative quiet, but 
Grant having taken command of 
the army of the Potomac, the 
struggle was renewed in the spring 
with increased fury. Following 
the fortunes of the corps to which 
his brigade belonged, the next 
general engagements in which he 
bore a part were at the Wilder- 
ness and Spotsylvania Court 
House. The following extract 
from the " London Morning Her- 
ald" affords a vivid picture of the 
action of this brigade. Having 
been written by an English gen- 
tleman, who had familiar access 
to Gen, Lee's Head Quarters, it 
must needs be more impartial 
than if it had been written by any 
one connected with the army. It 
is a description of the battle of the 
Wilderness, fought on the 12 th of 
May, 1864, and is dated at Rich- 
mond, on the 25th of the same 
month. After recounting the 
skirmishes which preceded the 
battle, and describing the com- 
mencement of the battle itself, 
this correspondent thus alludes to 
the recapture, by Eamseur's brig- 
ade, of a most important salient 
from which another portion of the 
army had been dislodged: 

" The Federalists continued to 
hold their ground in the salient, 
and along the line of works, to the 
left of that angle, within a short 
distance of the position of Mon- 
oghan's (Hay's) Louisianians. — 
Eamseur's Korth Carolinians of 

Rode's division formed, covering 
Monoghan's right; and being or- 
dered to charge, were received by 
the enemy with a stubborn re- 
sistance. The desperate charac- 
ter of the struggle along that brig- 
ade-front, was told terribly in the 
hoarseness and rapidity of its 
musketry. So close was the fight- 
ing there, for a time, that the fire 
of friend and foe rose up rattling 
in one common roar. Eamseur's 
Korth Carolinians dropped in 
the ranks thick and fast, but still 
he continued, with glorious con- 
stancy, to gain ground, foot by 
foot. Pressing under a fierce 
fire, resolutely on, on, on, the 
struggle was about to become 
one of hand to hand, when the 
Federalists shrank from the bloody 
trial. Driven back, they were 
not defeated. The earthworks be- 
ing at the moment in their imme- 
diate rear, they bounded on the 
opposite side; and having thus 
placed them in their front, they 
renewed the conflict. A rush of 
an instant brought Eamseur's 
men to the side of the defences ; 
and though they crouched close 
to the slopes, under enfilade from 
the guns of the salient, their mus- 
ketry rattled in deep and deadly 
fire on the enemy that stood in 
overwhelming numbers but a few 
yards from their front. Those 
brave North Carolinians had thus, 
in one of the hottest conflicts of 
the day, succeeded in driving the 
enemy from the works that had 
been occupied during the previous 
night by a brigade which, until 
the 12th of May, had never yet 
yielded to a foe— the Stonewall." 
At Spottsylvania Court House, 
General Eamseur acted with his 


Sketch of Major General S. D. Jtamseur: 


accustomed gallantry. In this 
"battle lie was shot through his 
already disabled arm, and had 
three horses killed under him; 
still he never left the field, but led 
on his brigade to the gathering of 
fresh laurels for himself and forces. 
General Eamseur's career as a 
brigade commander was an un- 
commonly brilliant one. He never 
led the brigade into action that 
he did not add to its reputation. 
It was noted at Chancellorsville 
that he drilled it under heavy fire, 
and led it in a charge when others 
refused to advance, his men ab- 
solutely running over portions of 
a recusant command. An officer 
describing his appearance as he 
stepped up to Gen. Rodes and 
oftered his brigade for the charge 
said, " he looked splendidly." 

For his services at Spottsylva- 
nia, on the occasion referred to, 
by the correspondent of the Lon- 
don Herald, Gen. Ramseur was 
complimented on the field by 
Generals Evvell and A. P. Hill, 
and sent for by General Lee, that 
he might receive, in person, the 
thanks of that noble command- 

While General Ramseur infused 
his own daring impetuous nature 
into his men, they almost wor- 
shipped him. They seemed to 
feel the same kind of personal en- 
thusiasm towards him that the 
corps felt toward GeneralJackson. 
He could lead them anywhere ; if 
he was guiding them, they never 
distrusted, never hesitated, never 
quailed. Their hearts beat with 
his high courage and responded 
to his heroic intrepidity. They 
had the most unbounded confi- 

dence in his daring, skill, and 
military resource. 

In June, 1864, he was promoted 
to a Major Generalship, and as- 
signed to the division formerly 
commanded by General Early. 

Early's corps, composed of Gor- 
don's Rodes' and Ramseur's di- 
visions, was shortly afterwards de- 
tached from Lee, and sent to re- 
pel Hunter, who was threatening 
Lynchburg. General Early reach- 
ed Lynchburg in time to save the 
city, and after the repulse of 
Hunter, he marched, for the third 
time, into Maryland. No serious 
fighting occurred during this 
campaign, until the army reached 
Monococy bridge, where Ramseur 
and Gordon defeated the forces 
commanded by General "Wallace. 
The army of the valley then 
marched to within five miles of 
"Washington city, and but for the 
timely arrival of troops from the 
Department of the Gulf, might 
have captured the Federal Cap- 

This addition to the enemy's 
army caused General Early to re- 
treat to the lower valley, where, 
with various successes and re- 
verses, he remained until ordered 
to rejoin the army before Rich- 

At the battle of "Winchester, on 
the 19th of September, General 
Ramseur's division sustained the 
brunt of the fight, from daylight 
until nine or ten o'clock, when 
the other divisions came to his re- 
lief. It was in this fierce conflict 
that the gallant Rodes gave up 
his life; and with the departure of 
his spirit, our army lost one of its 
noblest commanders. Gen. Ram- 
seur was transferred from Early's 


Sketch of Major General S, D. Bamseur. 

old division to the division which 
was left without a Major General 
by the fall of Eodes. He com- 
manded this but one month, when 
he, too, died the gallant death of 
a soldier, at the battle of Cedar 

In what esteem Major General 
S. D. Eamseur was held by his 
immediate superiors the following 
extract will show. And the cause 
of the letter, from which the ex- 
tract is taken, gives a faint indi- 
cation of the love entertained for 
him by his troops. Lieutenant 
General Early wrote as follows 
to Brig. General Bryan Grimes, 
who, at the request of the division 
lately commanded by Generals 
Eodes and Eamseur, had asked 
for a suspension of military duties 
for one day, that it might duly 
honor these noble captains: 

" Head Quarters, Valley Dist., 
Oct. 31, 1864. 

Gbkeral: Your request for 
the suspension for to-morrow in 
your division of all military duties 
which are not indispensable, in 
order to carry out the purposes of 
the resolutions of the officers of 
the division, in honor of Major 
General E. E. Eodes and Major 
General S. D. Eamseur, is grant- 
ed. I take occasion to express to 
the division, so lately commanded 
in succession by these lamented 
officers, my high appreciation of 
their merits, and my profound 
sorrow at their deaths. 

* -x- * * * * 

" Major General Eamseur has 
often proved his courage, and his 
capacity to command; but never 
did these qualities shine more 
conspicuously than on the after- 
noon of the 19th of this month. 

when, after two divisions on his 
left had given way, and his own 
was doing the same thing, he 
rallied a small band, and for 
one hour and a quarter held in 
check the enemy, until he was 
shot down himself. In endeav- 
oring to stop those who were re- 
tiring from the field, I had occa- 
sion to point them to the gallant 
stand made by Eamseur with his 
small party; and if his spirit could 
have animated those who left him 
thus battling, the 19th of October 
would have had a far different 
history. He met the death of a 
hero, ayid with his fall, the last 
hope of saviitg the day was lost. — 
General Eamseur was a soldier 
of whom his State has reason to 
be proud — he was brave, chival- 
rous and capable. 

J. A. Early, 
Lt. Gen. 
Brig. Gen. Bryan Grimes, 

Com'd'g. Div. 
Mortally wounded on the after- 
noon of October the 19th, 1864, 
after having participated in one 
of the most brilliant strategic move- 
ments of the war, he was captured, 
and died in the hands of the 
enemy, next morning, about 10 
o'clock. Some of his friends, in 
Winchester, procured his body, 
had it embalmed, and sent through 
the lines to his family. To Major 
Hutchinson, his Adjutant General, 
who was captured at the same 
time, the fatnily of General Eam- 
seur are indebted for some ad- 
ditional accounts of his last mo- 
ments. His wound was through 
the body, and of a very painful 
nature; but he bad occasional 
periods of ease, and during these, 

Sketch of Major General S. D. Bamseur. 


he conversed very calmly. He 
knew that he was fatally wound- 
ed, but was not unprepared to 
meet death. To General Hoke, 
who had been an old school- 
mate, and friend, from child- 
hood, he sent this word: " Tell 
General Hoke, I die a Christian, 
and have done my duty." 

He had heard, but the day be- 
fore the battle in which he was to 
give up his life, of the birth of his 
little daughter. He spoke most 
tenderly of his wife and little 
child, and sent them many loving 
messages. The last words he 
whispered were for her: " Tell 
my darling wife," he said, "I die 
with a firm faith in Christ, and 
trust to meet her hereafter." For 
his father, brothers and sisters, 
also, he had words of peace and 

General Kamseur was a Major 
General only for the period of five 
months, commanding first, Early's 
division, and after the death of 
General Eodes, taking his com- 
mand. But during this short 
time he maintained his high mili- 
tary character, and the entire con- 
fidence of his superior officers and 
brother Major Generals. There 
was only one occurrence in the 
whole of General Eamseur's mili- 
tary career to which it is possible 
to attach any blame, or make him 
the subject of censure, and even 
if it be a blunder or mistake, what 
commander has not, at some time, 
made one false step. 

It is thus spoken of by General 
Early in his narrative of his 
campaign in the Yalley. 

"On this day, (19th of July,) I 
received information that a col- 
umn, under Averill, was moving 

from Martinsburg, towards "Win- 
chester, as the position I held left 
my trains exposed in the rear, I 
determined to concentrate my 
force near Strasburg. This move- 
ment was commenced on the 
night of the 19th; Eamseur's di- 
vision being sent to Winchester, 
to cover that place against Averill. 
Vaughn's and Jackson's cavalry 
had been watching Averill, and 
on the afternoon of the 20th, it 
was reported to General Kamseur 
that Averill was at Stephenson's 
depot, with an inferior force, 
which could be captured, and 
Kamseur moved out Irom Win- 
chester to attack him. 

But relying on the information 
he received. General Kamseur did 
not take the proper precautions in 
advancing, and his division, while 
moving by the flank, was sudden- 
ly met by a larger force, under 
Averill, advancing in line of bat- 
tle, and the result was, Kamseur 
was thrown into confusion, and 
compelled to retire, with the loss 
of four pieces of artillery, and a 
number in killed and wounded. 
The error committed on this oc- 
casion, by this most gallant offi- 
cer, was nobly retrieved on the 
subsequent part of the campaign." 

It is very doubtful if any blame 
should be attached to Gen. Kam- 
seur for this affair. The cavalry 
command, mentioned, had been 
in his front all day, for the special 
purpose of watching Averill, and 
reporting from time to time. A 
General commanding, must rely 
on his subordinates for much in- 
formation ; he cannot possibly at- 
tend to everything himself. Gen. 
Kamseur had secured no informa- 
tion that the enemy were nearer 


Sketch of Major General S. D. Mamseur. 


tlian Stephenson's depot. Those 
whose duty it was to inform him, 
reported such as the fact. It was 
a mistake, therefore, that under 
the circumstances, might have 
happened to any general. Cer- 
tain it is that General Early did 
not censure Gen. Ramseur, at the 
time, and General Rodes did not 
for one moment lose his confidence 
in him. 

General Early thus speaks of 
General Eamseur in his account 
of the battle of Cedar Creek: 

"Major General Eamseur fell 
into the hands of the enemy, 
mortally wounded, and in him, not 
only my command, but the coun- 
try suffered a heavy loss. He 
was ■ a most gallant and ener- 
getic officer, whom no dis- 
aster appalled, but his courage 
and energy seemed to gain new 
str'ength in the midst of confusion 
and disorder. He fell at his post, 
fighting like a lion at bay, and his 
native State has reason to be 
proud of his memory." 

General Ramseur was a noble 
specimen of a man; though dis- 
tinguished as a warrior, and poss- 
essing marked abilities for military 
success, yet his greatest excellence 
was his character as a man. He 
had all those qualities that excite 
the love and admiration of friends, 
and the respect of foes; no dis- 
honorable thought, word, or 
act stains his bright name. In all 
the relations of life he was a 
model, as a son, brother, husband, 
friend; he was without reproach. 
His friendship elevated and en- 
nobled, for the whole tone of his 
character was lofty. He had de- 
veloped in a remarkable manner 
two elements necessary to the 

highest type of man, viz: a hu- 
manly tenderness of feeling, 
united with the most manly cour- 
age and self-reliance. His cour- 
age was the theme of the whole 
army, he seemed perfectly fearless, 
absolutely devoid of any sense of 
fear. It seems strange that one 
so affectionate, so almost woman- 
ly in his feelings, should have 
been so completely at home amid 
the dreadful scenes of the battle 
field. But he absolutely reveled 
in the fierce joys of the strife, his 
whole being seemed to kindle and 
burn and glow amid the excite- 
ments of danger. He was spoken 
of by one of the Virginia papers 
as the Chevalier Bayard of the 
war. His courage was marvel- 
ous — danger seemed to draw him 
as by a strange fascination, — and 
he could pardon everything but 
cowardice. Yet all this was not 
because he was indifi'erent to hu- 
man life and suffering, he would 
expose himself to shield his staff", 
and his eyes would fill with tears 
as he reviewed his broken ranks, 
after the engagement was over. 

General Eamseur was remark- 
able for his love of children ; he 
would devote himself to them 
wherever he met them and seem- 
ed to take the greatest pleasure in 
pleasing them. From childhood 
he himself had been a most devoted 
child to his parents, and no sister 
ever had a brother more affection- 
ate, no wife a husband more en- 
tirely her own. His whole nat- 
ure was selt- denying — open-heart- 
ed — generous; no mean envies, 
no base jealousies were found in 
him. He never sought promo- 
tion, it always came unasked by 


Sketch of Major General S. D. Bamseur. 


In person, General Ramseur 
was of medium height, his figure 
was slender but well proportioned, 
very erect and of fine martial 
bearing. His brow was large, 
prominent, well rounded — his eye 
large and black and the whole ex- 
pression open, winning and strik- 
ing. Hi^ face indicated in a most 
remarkable manner loftiness of 
character and purity of sentiment. 
He was a fine horseman, sitting 
his 'horse with grace, and man- 
aging him with skill. 

Gen. Ramseur was a member of 
the Presbyterian Church and died 
expressing his hope in Jesus as 
his Saviour. 

The writer of this sketch passed 
the last two years of the war in 
close intimacy with General Ram- 
seur. He saw much of his Chris- 
tian character, and had many con- 
versations with him on religious 
subjects. During this period he 
always expressed himself as trust- 
ing in Jesus. He read his Bible, 
and was regularly at church, and 
always promoted religious ob- 
servance among his troops. The 

last winter of his life Mrs. Ram- 
seur spent with him in camp. — 
He had prayers regularly in his 
family, and read religious books. 
He spoke particularly of his en- 
joyment of Jay's "Christian Con- 
templated," a book on the Chris- 
tian character. He also read his 
Bible a great deal, and his faith 
gradually became brighter, more 
fixed and calmer. The last ser- 
mon he heard was in New Market 
from the text " To him that over- 
cometh will I give to eat of the 
hidden manna and will give him 
a white stone." He enjoyed it 
and spoke of his satisfaction in it. 

His last words to Mrs. Ramseur 
were an expression of assured hope 
in Christ. 

A high-toned and chivalrous 
gentleman, a gallant soldier, an 
humble Christian. We may ap- 
ply to him the words of the great 
Poet of our language — 

"In war was never lion raged more 

In peace was never lamb more mild, 
Than was that young and princely gen- 

1868.] The Bealm of Enchantvient. 11 


We live in a fairy region, 
And everything rich and rare, 
Floats down on the wings of wishing, 
And circles about us there. 

The light of the land falls faintly, 
With radiance mellowed fine, 
A diamond sun beams shimmer 
On pearls of the pale moon- shine. 

Four seasons, in one united, 
The best of their gifts display; 
October emulates August, 
December melts into May. 

We pluck off ambrosial roses, 

And powder their pink with snow. 

Or dash away clear icicles 

From branches, where ripe grapes glow. 

Age has the vigor of childhood ; 
Youth, the experience of age; 
The merriest mind is monarch. 
The lovingest heart a sage. 

Here honor, and faith, and duty 
Are old, yet forever new. 
Here manhood is grandly noble. 
And womanhood purely true. 

All ages and aims commingle. 
All tempers and times disport ; 
The Sages of Greece give greetings 
To Wits of Queen Anna's Court. 

Here Homer hovers round Shakespeare, 
And Milton merges in Moore ; 
Boccaccio is fused with Browning, 
Cervantes and Sappho soar! 

12 The Bealm of Enchantment. [^^ay? 

Lancelot lays off his laurels, 
Ivanhoe tilts on the plain, 
While Cleopatra wanders 
With the Lilly Maid Elaine. 

^ Love is the law of the kingdom, 

And Virtue is nurse to Love ; 
But whether an earthly Eden, 
Or Scintillant Star above, 

Be site of our fair dominion. 
We know not, nor greatly care. — 
We know we are very happy, 
All we, who are dwellers there! 



The State of Franklin. 



Such was the condition of af- 
fairs when the North Carolina 
Legislature met at Newbern, al- 
most simultaneously with the 
adjournment of the Franklin Con- 

The parent State had not been 
inattentive to the growing aliena- 
tion and defection of her Western 
citizens. Exhibiting the same 
kind and conciliatory spirit as 
had been manifested by Governors 
Martin and Caswell, the Legisla- 
ture, in the preamble to their ac- 
tion on this subject, says: "It 
wajS, and continues to be, the de- 
sire of the General Assembly to 
extend the benefit of civil govern- 
ment to the citizens of the "West- 
ern counties until such time as 
they might be separated with ad- 
vantage and convenience to them- 
selves ; and the Assembly are 
ready to pass over, and consign to 
oblivion, the mistakes and mis- 
conduct of such persons in the 
above mentioned counties, as have 
withdrawn themselves from the 
government of this State; to hear 
and redress their grievances, if 
any they have, and to afford them 
the benefits and protection of 
government, until such time, as 
they may be in a condition, from 
their numbers and wealth, to be 
formed into a separate common- 
wealth, and be received by the 
L^nited States as a member of the 

The act then grants pardon and 
oblivion for all that had been 
done in the revolted counties, on 

the condition that they return to 
their allegiance to Korth Caroli- 
na. They also appointed officers, 
civil and military, in place of the 
incumbents under the Franklin 
dynasty, and empowered the vo- 
ters to choose their representa- 
tives otherwise than by the then 
required forms. 

It is not known how many of 
the several counties participated 
in the provisions thus made by 
the parent State for a- return of 
the "Western citizens to their alle- 
giance. In "Washington county 
disaffection to the Franklin Gov- 
ernment began to manifest itself. 
An election was held at the Syca- 
more Shoals and Col. Tipton was 
chosen Senator, and James Stuart 
and Richard White were chosen 
as members of the House of Com- 
mons in the Legislature of North 
Carolina. These gentlemen had 
been members of the Convention 
of Franklin, and in other ways 
had participated in its administra- 
tion. Their well known influ- 
ence and weight of character ren- 
dered their present position, of ill- 
omen to the future fortunes of the 
new government. Many, in Wash- 
ington county especially, influ- 
enced by their example, accepted 
the terms of accommodation held 
out by North Carolina, and en- 
rolled their names in opposition 
to the new State. From this pe- 
riod resistance to or refusal of its 
authority assumed a more system- 
atic and determined form. 

In the year 1786 was presented 


The State of Franklin. 


the strange spectacle of two em- 
pires exercised at one and the 
same time, over one and the same 
people. County courts were held 
in the same counties, under both 
governments; the militia were 
called out by officers appointed by 
both; laws were passed by both 
Assemblies, and taxes were laid 
by the authorities of both States ; 
the conflict of opinion between the 
adherents of both parties became 
every day more acrimonious. — 
Every fresh provocation on the 
one side, was surpassed, by way 
of retaliation, by a still greater 
provocation on the other. The 
Judges commissioned by Frank- 
lin held Supreme Courts twice a 
year at Jonesboro. Col. Tipton 
openly refused obedience to the 
new government. There arose a 
deadly hatred between him and 
Governor Sevier, and each en- 
deavored by all the means in his 
power to strengthen his party 
against the other. Tipton held 
Courts under the authority of 
Korth Carolina, at Buffalo, ten 
miles above Jonesboro, — which 
were conducted by her officers and 
agreeably to her laws. Courts 
were held at Jonesboro in the 
same county under the authority 
of the State of Franklin. As the 
process of these courts frequently 
required the Sheriff to pass with- 
in the jurisdiction of each other, 
to execute it, a rencounter was 
sure to take place. Hence it be- 
came necessary to appoint the 
stoutest men in the county to the 
office of Sheriff. Whilst a county 
court was sitting in Jonesboro 
Col. Tipton, with a party of men, 
entered the Court House, took 
away the papers from the desk, and 

turned the Justices out of doors. 
Not long after, Sevier's party 
came to the house where a Korth 
Carolina court was sitting and 
took away the clerk's papers and 
turned the court out of doors. — 
Similar acts were several times 
repeated during the Franklin Re- 
gime. In one case the papers of 
the Franklin Clerk, after being re- 
captured, were taken to a cave for 
better concealment and safety. — 
The same scenes were also enact- 
ed in Greene county, but less fre- 
quently. The two clerks in all 
the counties issued marriage li- 
censes and many persons were 
married by virtue of their author- 
ity. Wills were admitted to pro- 
bate, and letters of administration 
were granted on both sides.* 

Notwithstanding the defection 
of some of its early advocates, 
and the neutrality of others of 
its friends, the government of 
Franklin continued to exercise its 
functions in the seven counties 
now constituting its sovereignty. 
County and Superior Courts were 
held, the militia was mustered, 
and disciplined, and civil and 
military elections took place un- 
der its authority. Not only were 
the frontier settlements protected 
and defended, but Gov. Sevier 
with his volunteers, often invaded 
the Cherokee country and laid 
waste their villages. His admin- 
istrative ability was not less in 
military than in civil affairs, con- 
spicuously exhibited. He early 
adopted the policy, heretofore as- 
certained to be the most effectual, 
of penetrating at once, with his 
mounted men, into the 'heart of 

* Haywood. 


The State of Franklin. 


the enemy's country, securing 
thereby, the immediate return of 
the hostile Indians to the defence 
of their towns and their homes. 

In one of these invasions he 
crossed the Tennessee at Island 
Town and marched over the 
Unaca Mountain, to the Hiwassee. 
Here three of the Cherokee vil- 
lages were destroyed, and a num- 
ber of their warriors killed. 

The eftect of this bold invasion 
was most salutary. Few aggres- 
sions were, for some time after, 
made against the frontier. But 
it was considered by each of the 
sovereignties claiming jurisdiction 
over the country, a wise and ne- 
cessary policy to adopt further 
methods of conciliation and se- 

North Carolina had sent Col. 
Martin on a mission of peace into 
the interior of the Cherokee Na- 
tion. Governor Sevier was not 
less attentive in the meantime to 
the relations of Franklin with 
that tribe, and in the exercise of 
one of the highest attributes of 
political sovereignty, he appointed 
Commissioners to negotiate a 
second treaty with the Cherokees. 
The conference began at Chota 
Ford, July 31st, and was con- 
cluded at Coiatee, August 3d, 

The difficulties with the Chero- 
kees being thus adjusted, and pro- 
vision having been made for co- 
operating with Georgia against 
the Creeks, it remained for the 
Franklin Authorities to reconcile 
conflicts nearer home. The im- 
periuni in imperio condition of 
things, threatened anarchy, or 
misrule — perhaps disaster and 
ruin to all parties. The people in 

some of the revolted counties, had 
sent forward their members to 
the North Carolina Assembly, 
which met at Fayetteville. They 
were in like manner also repre- 
sented in the Assembly of Frank- 
lin. Taxes were laid by both 
governments, and collected by 
neither — the people not knowing, 
as was pretended, which had the 
better right to receive them : and 
neither government was forward 
in overruling the plea, for fear of 
giving offence to those who could, 
at pleasure, transfer their allegi- 
ance. Previous attempts had 
failed in securing from North 
Carolina, consent to the separa- 
tion of her revolted counties. 
Disaffection had already mani- 
fested itself against the authority 
of Franklin, and some of those 
who were at first most zealous 
and clamorous for the separation, 
were now opposed to it in their 
legislative capacity, at Fayette- 
ville. Every day brought new 
embarrassments to the adminis- 
tration of Governor Sevier, who, 
with the Assembly, was devising 
plans by which to extricate the 
new government from impending 
danger. One of these was the 
appointment of General Cocke 
and Judge Campbell, as Commis- 
sioners to North Carolina, to ne- 
gotiate a separation. Each of 
them was well suited for the pur- 
pose of his mission. The former 
was identified with the new set- 
tlements, by an early participa- 
tion in the privation, enterprise 
and danger of pioneer life. More 
recently, he had taken an active 
part in founding the new State — 
had been appointed its Delegate to 
Congress— commanded a brigade 


The State of Franhlin. 


of its militia, and held other posi- 
tions implying confidence in his 
talents and address. His col- 
league had also a minute ac- 
quaintance with every question re- 
lating to either of the parties — 
held the highest judicial station in 
the government, from which he 
was accredited, and by his private 
worth, was entitled to the respect 
of the one, to which he was now 

To secure to his embassy the 
greater consideration and weight, 
the Crovernor of Franklin address- 
ed to the Governor of IN'orth Car- 
olina a communication conceived 
in respectful and lenient terms, 
yet manifesting, at the same time, 
earnestness and determination in 
maintaining the rights and ad- 
vancing the interests of his State. 
He reviewed the course that had 
been adopted from the Act of 
Cession — its hasty repeal, and the 
confusion which had resulted from 
it, — vindicated himself and his 
countrymen from the aspersions 
that had been cast upon them, for 
the action which had been taken 
in the premises, and expressed 
the hope that the Assembly of the 
l^arent State would not involve in 
further ruin the late citizens who 
had, at King's Mountain and 
other places, fought and bled for 
the defence, and who were still 
ready to die in the support of free- 
dom and independence. "Your 
constitution and laws," said he, 
"we revere, and consider our- 
selves happy that we have been 
able to establish them in Trank- 
lin. We do, in the most candid 
and solemn manner, assure you 
that we do not wish to separate 
from you on any other terms but 

those perfectly consistent with the 
honor and interest of each party: 
neither do we believe there is any 
amongst us who wish for a separ- 
ation did they believe that the 
parent State should suffer from it 
any real inconvenience. We would 
be willing to stand or fall together 
under any dangerous crisis what- 
ever, and, though wanting to be 
separated in government, we wish 
to be united in friendship, and 
hope that mutual good offices may 
ever pass between the parent and 
infant State." 

Such was the calm and pacific 
tones of Governor Sevier in intro- 
ducing to Governor Caswell the 
embassadors from the State of 

Judge Campbell, on account of 
ill-health, was unable to attend in 
person at Fayetteville; but desir- 
ous of effecting the object of his 
embassy, "a ratification of our 
Independence," he forwarded to 
Governor Caswell his written ar- 
gument in support of it. " Is not 
your State," said he, " when con- 
nected with this part of the coun- 
try, too extensive? Are we not 
then one day to be separate peo- 
ple? Do you recieve any advan- 
tages from us as now situated ? or 
do you expect ever to recieve any? 
I believe you do not. Sufter us 
then to pursue our own happiness 
in a way most agreeable to our 
situation and circumstances. — 
Can a people so nearly connect- 
ed as yours are with ours delight 
in our misfortunes? It was not 
from a love of novelty, or the de- 
sire of titles that our leaders were 
induced to engage in the present 
revolution, but from pure neces- 
sity. If we set out wrong, or 


Tlie State of Franklin. 


were too hasty in our separation, 
this country is not altogether to 
blame; your State pointed out the 
line of conduct which we adopted. 
We really thought you in earnest 
when you ceded us to Congress. 
If you then thought we ought to 
be separate, or if you now think 
we ever ought to be, permit us to 
complete the work that is now more 
than half done. Suffer us to give 
energy to our laws, and force to 
our councils, by saying we are a 
separate and independent people. 
Nature has separated us; do not 
oppose her in her work. By ac- 
quiescing you will bless us and do 
yourself no injury. You bless us 
by uniting the disaffected and do 
yourself no injury because you 
lose nothing but people who are a 
clog to your government, and to 
whom you cannot do equal justice 
by reason of their detached situa- 

Such was the plain common- 
sense and well tempered written 
argument of Judge Campbell. — 
But notwithstanding these earn- 
est representations made in be- 
half of the people of Franklin, 
the Assembly of North Caro- 
lina, disregarding their protests 
and memorials, continued to 
legislate for them — establishing 
new counties and appointing 
new officers, civil and military. 
It had also taken into considera- 
tion the measures necessary to be 
adopted in relation to the revolt- 
ers, in Franklin. At this mo- 
ment, General Cooke, the other 
Commissioner from the State of 
Franklin, appeared in Fayette- 
ville, and at his request, was 
heard at the bar of the House of 
Commons. His speech has been 

YOL. V. NO. I. 

preserved, in which he pathetical- 
ly depicted the miseries of his 
distressed countrymen, he traced 
the motives of their separation to 
the difficult and perilous condition 
in which they had been placed by 
the Cession Act of 1784; he stated 
that the savages, in their neigh- 
borhood, often committed upon 
the defenceless inhabitants, the 
most shocking barbarities; and 
that they were without the means 
of raising, or subsisting troops 
for their protection ; without au- 
thority to levy men ; without the 
power to lay taxes for the sup- 
port of internal government; and 
without the hope, that any of 
their necessary expenditures would 
be defrayed by North Carolina, 
which had then become no more 
interested in their safety, than 
any other of the United States. 
The sovereignty retained, being 
precarious and nominal, as it de- 
pended on the acceptance of the 
Cession by Congress, so it was 
anticipated, would be the concern 
of North Carolina for the ceded 
territory. With these considera- 
tions full in view, what were the 
people of the ceded territory to do, 
to avoid the blow of the uplifted 
tomahawk? How were the wo- 
men and children to be rescued 
from the impending destruction? 
Would Congress come to their 
rescue? Alas! Congress had not 
yet accepted them, and possi- 
bly never would. And if accept- 
ed. Congress was to deliberate on 
the quantum of defence which 
might be afforded to them. The 
distant State would wish to know 
what profits they would respect- 
ively draw from the ceded coun- 
try, and how much land would 


The State of Franklin. 


remain after satisfying the claims 
upon it. The contributions from 
the several States were to be 
spontaneous. They might be too 
limited to do any good, too tardy 
for practical purposes. The pow- 
ers of Congress were too feeble, 
to enforce contributions. What- 
ever aids should be resolved on, 
might not reach the objects of 
their bounty, till all was lost. 
Would common prudence justify 
a reliance upon such prospects? 
Could the lives of themselves and 
of their families be staked upon 
them? Immediate and pressing 
necessity called for the power to 
concentrate the scanty means they 
possessed, of saving themselves 
from destruction. A cruel and 
insiduous foe was at their 
doors. Delay was but another 
name for death. They might 
supinely wait for events, but 
the first of them would be, the 
yell of the savage throughout all 
their settlements. It was the well 
known disposition of the savages 
to take every advantage of an un- 
preparedness to receive them, and 
of a sudden, to raise the shriek- 
ing cry of exultation over the fal- 
len inhabitants. The hearts of 
the people of North Carolina 
should not be hardened against 
their brethren, who have stood by 
their sides in perilous times, and 
never heard the cry of distress, 
when they did not instantly rise 
and march to their aid. Those 
brethren have bled in profusion to 
save you from bondage and from 
the sanguinary hands of a relent- 
less enemy, whose mildest laws 
for the punishment of rebellion is 
beheading and quartering. When 
driven in the late war, by the 

pressure of that enemy, from your 
homes, we gave to many of you a 
sanctified asylum in the bosom of 
our country, and gladly performed 
the rites of hospitality to a people 
we loved so dearly. Every hand 
was ready to be raised for the 
least unhallowed violation of the 
sanctuary in which they reposed." 
" The act for our dismission 
was, indeed, in the winter of 1784, 
revoked; what then was our con- 
dition? More penniless, defence- 
less, and unprepared if possible, 
than before, and under the same 
necessity as ever to meet and con- 
sult together for our common 
safety. The resources of the coun- 
try all locked up, where is the re- 
cord that shows any money or 
supplies sent to us?— a single sol- 
dier ordered to be stationed on the 
frontier — or any plan formed for 
mitigating the horrors of our situ- 
ation? On the contrary, the sav- 
ages are irritated by the stoppage 
of those goods on their passage, 
which were promised as a com- 
pensation for the lands which had 
been taken from them. If Korth 
Carolina must still hold us in sub- 
jection, it should be at least un- 
derstood to what a state of dis- 
traction, suffering and poverty 
her varying conduct has reduced 
us, and the liberal hand of gener- 
osity should be widely opened for 
relief from the pressure of pres- 
ent circumstances: all animosity 
should be laid aside and buried in 
deep oblivion, and our errors 
should be considered, as the off- 
spring of greater errors, commit- 
ted by yourselves. It belongs to 
a magnanimous people to weep 
over the failings of their unfor- 
tunate children, especially if 


The iState of Franklin. 


prompted by the inconsiderate 
behavior of the parent. Far should 
it be from their hearts to harbor 
the unnatural purpose of adding 
still more affliction to those who 
have suffered but too much al- 
ready. It belongs to a magnani- 
mous people to give an industri- 
ous attention to circumstances in 
order to form a just judgment 
upon a subject so much deserving 
their serious meditation, and when 
once carefully formed, to employ 
with sedulous anxiety, the best 
efforts of their purest wisdom in 
choosing a course to pursue suit- 
able to the dignity of their own 
character, consistent with their 
own honor, and the best calcula- 
ted to allay that storm of distract- 
ion in which their hapless chil- 
dren have been so unexpectedly 
involved. If the mother shall 
judge the expense of adhesion too 
heavy to be borne, let us remain 
as we are and support ourselves 
by our own exertions; if otherwise, 
let the means for the continuance 
of our connexion be supplied with 
that degree of liberality which 
will demonstrate seriousness on 
the one hand and secure affection 
on the other." 

General Cooke's speech was 
heard with attention, and he re- 

The General Assembly continu- 
ed to legislate for the revolted 
counties and by an act of that 
session, pardoned the offences of 
all persons who had returned 
to their allegiance to the State of 
Korth Carolina, and restored 
them to all the privileges of other 
citizens of the State, as if the 
said offences and misconduct had 
never existed. But they con- 

tinued in office all officers who 
held and enjoyed their offices, 
April 1, 1784, and declared va- 
cant the offices of all such per- 
sons as had accepted and exer- 
cised other offices and appoint- 
ments, the acceptance and exer- 
cise of which were considered to 
be a resignation of their former 
offices, held under the State of 
North Carolina; and directed that 
such vacant offices, should be filled 
with proper persons to be ap- 
pointed by the General Assembly, 
and commissioned by the Gover- 
nor of North Carolina, as directed 
by law. 

The latter provisions of this 
Act produced great dissatisfaction 
amongst the people upon whom 
it was intended to operate. The 
old office holders were capable, 
they had been faithful, and their 
experience and attention to offi- 
cial duty had secured universal 
confidence and approbation. Those 
upon whom the new appoint- 
ments were conferred, were, many 
of them, non-residents, inex- 
perienced and not reliable, se- 
lected by the favoritism of some 
functionary in the old State,andfor 
that reason odious to the people 
Their appointment was denounc- 
ed by, and drew forth the bitter 
condemnation of some of both 
parties. The temper of the com- 
plainants is seen in a further letter 
of Judge Campbell, to Governor 
Caswell, after the adjournment 
of the Legislature. "The ma- 
jority of the people of the State 
of Franklin " said he, " pro- 
claim with enthusiastic zeal 
against a reversion to your State. 
Indeed, I am at a loss to con- 
jecture whether your Assembly 


The State of Franklin. 


wished us to revert : if so, why- 
did they treat the old faithful 
oflQcers of this country with con- 
tempt? Officers who have suffer- 
ed in the common cause, who 
have been faithful in the discharge 
of the trust reposed in them, have 
been displaced without even the 
formality of a trial. If the old 
officers, who were the choice of 
the people, and under whom they 
have long served, had been con- 
tinued, I doubt not but all things 
would have been settled here, 
agreeable to the most sanguine 
wishes of the General Assembly ; 
but such infringement on the 
rights and privileges of a free 
people, will never be attended 
with salutary consequences. I 
also blame the law, enabling the 
people here to hold partial elec- 
tions. If it was intended to di- 
yide us, and to set us to massa- 
creing one another, it was well 
conducted, but an ill-planned 
scheme, if intended for the good 
of all." * * * * * 
" You mention that if the people 
here could be brought to agree in 
making a general application to 
the Legislature, the desired ob- 
ject might be easily brought, about. 
Human nature is the same in all 
countries. To expect to bring a 
people cordially and unanimously 
to adopt the most salutary meas- 
ure, is not to be expected, and 
they will most assuredly be re- 
fractory to doubtful and excep- 
tionable plans." "The people here 
dread the idea of a reversion. 
They say if Korth Carolina is in 
earnest about granting them a 
separation, why not permit them 
to go on as they have begun, and 
not involve them in inextricable 

difficulties, by undoing the work 
of two or three years." And 
again he says respecting a rever- 
sion: " Many who were formerly 
unknown are now flaming patriots 
for Franklin. Many who were 
real Franklinites, are now burn- 
ing with enthusiastic zeal. They 
say that North Carolina has not 
treated us like a parent, but like a 
step-mother; she means to sacri- 
fice us to the Indian Savages: she 
has broke our old officers, under 
whom we fought, and bled: and 
placed over us men unskilled in 
military achievements, and who 
were none of our choice. I have 
no doubt, but your Excellency 
will use your influence to bring 
matters to a friendly and advan- 
tageous issue to both parties. 
Nothing that the love of humani- 
ty can inspire me with, shall be 
wanting on my part." 

North Carolina, in the mean- 
time, adopted a further measure 
of conciliation, viz: the relinquish- 
ing to the revolted citizens, all 
the taxes due, and unpaid, since 
1784. This, with the act of par- 
don and oblivion already mention- 
ed, had the desired eflect upon a 
part of the disaffected. Commis- 
sions W' re sent to, and accepted 
by justices of the peace, in "Wash- 
ington, Sullivan, and Hawkins 
counties, and under the authority 
of the old State, Courts were held 
by them, and law administered 
as though the State of Franklin 
did not exist. In Greene county, 
and the new counties below it, 
men could not be found willing to 
accept the offered Commissions. 
There the authority of Franklin 
was supreme, and there was no 
conflict of iurisdiction. It was 


The State of Franklin. 


very different elsewhere, and es- 
pecially in Washington county. 
Previous to the revolt, Courts 
had been held at Jonesboro', and 
had afterwards been held at the 
same place under the new govern- 
ment. Now, when the sentiment 
of allegiance to North Carolina 
had become, in some measure, 
general, the newly appointed mag- 
istrates opened, and held, the 
Courts at Davis' ten miles above 
Jonesboro'. The partisans of one 
government quarreled with those 
of the other. The officers of each, 
in discharge of official duty, came 
into conflict with the authority of 
the rival government. The ani- 
mosity thus engendered, became 
t^e more acrimonious, as this 
county was the residence of Gov. 
Sevier, and also of Colonel John 
Tipton, who, though at first, a 
leader in the revolt, had now be- 
come prominent at the head of 
the Old State party. These two, 
alike, brave, ambitious, patriotic, 
and champions of their respective 
adherents, kept the people in a 
constant tumult, each, alternate- 
ly, breaking in upon, and inter- 
rupting the Courts and juris- 
diction of the other. The hor- 
rors of a fratricidal conflict seem- 
ed inevitable. Measures were 
adopted by both parties to allay 
the agitation, and restore quiet. 
General Rutherford had intro- 
duced before the Legislature of 
Korth Carolina, a measure of 
conciliation, that would have been 
acceptable to the malcontents be- 
yond the mountains, but it had 
been instantly rejected. The 
mission of General Cooke, and the 
pacific overtures of Judge Camp- 
bell, had been abortive and un- 

successful. Franklin and Korth 
Carolina stood — not upon the 
edge of a precipice over which 
both might have been precipitated 
and engulphed, but upon the 
brink of a volcano, whose crater 
was yawning to receive, or whose 
fiery lava, was ready to inundate 
and overwhelm both parties in a 
common ruin. The patriot sighed 
for some mode of escape from the 
threatened catastrophe, while the 
statesman anxiously contemplated 
the impending crisis, and devised 
the best plan to avert the storm, 
or to mitigate its violence. What 
mode of Meconstruction did wis- 
dom suggest, or patriotism pro- 
vide, to meet the present emer- 
gencies, and to save the political 
fabric from further wreck and ul- 
timate ruin and annihilation? 
Fortunately there was then, both 
wisdom and patriotism. There 
were, then, in those pure and in- 
fant days, of each republic, not 
only true patriots, but wise and 
sagacious statemen — inspired may 
we hope, for the exigencies of the 
momentous occasion. As a 
final resort, negotiation was at- 
tempted to reconcile the conflicts 
of interests and of feeling be- 
tween the two States. But who 
should be the negotiator to har- 
monize the antagonistic forces? 
An officer of the old State? The 
opposition to such an one, was at 
one time a mere prejudice, it had 
now become a sentiment of inap- 
peasable malignity, and no ofiers 
of compromise from him could be, 
for a moment, entertained. Policy 
dictated that the negotiator should 
be Selected from the Western peo- 
ple themselves, and that he should 
bfe one who, from his past posi- 


The State of FranMin. 


tion, was identified, in all his 
sympathies and interests, with the 
West. General Evan Shelby, 
high in the confidence of his 
countrymen everywhere, remarka- 
ble for his probity, candor, good 
sense, and patriotism, was re- 
quested by Governor Caswell to 
undertake this delicate negotia- 
tion, and in conjunction with 
others, whose assistance he so- 
licited, met a Commissioner from 
the State of Franklin, at a private 
house, on the 20th March, 1787. 
At this conference, Gov. Sevier 
represented his own Government, 
aided by such of his friends as he 
chose to invite. 

Time and space will not allow 
the writer to give in detail the re- 
sults of this important conference. 
Let it suffice here to say that a 
temporary quiet succeeded this 
compromise, and the people hav- 
ing by it secured the right of pay- 
ing their taxes and of owing alle- 
giance to either of their rival gov- 
ernments at their own option, the 
jurisdiction of both was for a time 
coordinate. No better proof need 
be adduced that the inhabitants 
of the disaffected country were 
honest, law-abiding, just and 
peaceable, than their demeanor 
under this unwonted condition of 
questionable allegiance. Any 
where else than amongst this 
irascible though virtuous commu- 
nity, anarchy, misrule, tumult 
and violence, would have follow- 
ed. Prevalent sentiment was 
amongst these primitive people, 
essentially the law, and had the 
validity and force of legislative 

authority. Popular opinion was 
radically sound. It was in favor 
of right and justice. The people 
bowed to its supremacy, and paid 
allegiance to its mandates. They 
needed no other tribunal. 

Still a wound had been inflicted 
upon the dignity of the parent 
State, and there were not wanting 
men in the country willing to ap- 
pease her wrath and make an 
atonement for the indignity and 
injury she had recieved. These 
finding fault with and condemning 
the acts of the new State, reported 
its wrong doings to Gov. Cas- 
well. They were clamorous about 
trespasses committed upon Chero- 
kee territory by the intruding 
" Franklinites," and foreboded, 
what really took place, a renewal 
of Indian aggression upon the set- 
tlements, if they were not restrain- 
ed. By one Governor Caswell 
was advised to remove the intru- 
ders by an armed force, and the 
writer expressed his apprehension 
that " the contention will end in 
blood." Gov. Caswell received 
another letter of still more porten- 
tous import, from an accredited 
agent, who had been sent to spy 
out the real condition of affairs 
in his trans-montane territory. — 
In his tour of observation, he 
seems to have detected, not only 
infidelity to North Carolina on 
the part of the people of Franklin, 
but " a tendency to dissolve the 
Federal bands." He is the first 
to advise " the interference of 
government" to suppress the in- 
surgents by arms. 

1868.] Poor Tom. 23 


" A'cold." 

" true! oh! king." 

Years of his rreedom — two! 

And a shivering phantom stands 
With the firelight flickering through 

His gaunt and wasted hands. 
" Home!" — and he bowed his head 

With a low and wailing cry; 
Ah! not for shelter and not for bread, 

Only a place to— die ! 

To die at the master's feet, 

Out of the scourging storm 
Where the winds might never beat; 

Where Tom lay ever warm ; 
Till Freedom, the pitiless 

Fell from the cruel sky ; 
And the bitterness of his nakedness 

Made Tom so glad to— die! 

Oh! had these arms the pith 

Of just two years ago. 
Wrecked in the wrestle with 

You wilderness of woe! 
Tom's love would bring the light 

Back to his master's eye — 
But the blood in his heart is cold to-night, 

And he only comes to — die! 

Was it ever so many years, 

Or only yesterday. 
That master, among his peers 

Went bravest, with Tom, the gay? 
Before the "locust" and " hail," 

Or only an hour gone by, 
That Freedom fell with a flail 

On Tom, and made him die! 

24 Poor Tom. [May, 

Of the dear old days, so sweet 

Does master dream as he sits, 
Till the weariness of his /eei 

Seems — wandering in his wits ; 
.. Till yesterday seems so dim, 

And the far-away, so nigh, 
That his head goes all a'swim. 

And his heart is faint to die! 

Poor Tom! — For a hundred years 

Your blood has coursed by mine, 
"Were there warmth in bitter tears, 

There should not lack the brine ; 
Dying! — I know it well, 

As I know the signs on high ; 
The tokens that grimly tell, 
Out of the STORM, 'twere well 

Both of us, Tom, to die! 


Industrial Combinations. 



Combinations for the prosecu- 
tion of industrial pursuits are the 
characteristic of our age. They 
now enjoy almost universal favor, 
and are extending themselves, in 
old and new directions, every 
year. In the delight which is in 
spired hy their efficiency for mon- 
ey-getting, people seem unsuspi- 
cious of the extensive changes and 
disasters which they are probably 
destined to introduce into modern 
society. The successive curses 
which have blighted the hopes of 
civilized man so often, have usu- 
ally proceeded from some in- 
stitution, valued and approved, 
(because useful in its place) but 
unexpectedly prevented. The dis- 
position to favor chartered cor- 
porations, so prevalent in the 
European family of nations, finds 
its explanation in their history. — 
Corporate rights were not un- 
known to the Eoman Civil law. — 
But their value grew into its 
present appreciation in the feudal 
ages. When the ancient order of 
the Eoman world fell before the 
Gothic and Teutonic hordes, there 
was, for a time, a total prostra- 
tion of civic rights, before the 
armed violence of the nomadic 
and military barbarians. For a 
time Western Europe was a chaos, 
"without form and void," pre- 
senting no settled rights, or dis- 
tinctive social order. At length, 
as the stormy and seething ele- 
ments subsided, the feudal sys- 
tem was seen to emerge, the crude 
rudiments of which had, perhaps, 

been brought by the Teutons from 
the German forests. This was a 
military organization of society: 
in which the main feature was the 
tenure of the lands, not in fee 
simple, but as tenants for life, on 
condition of certain military ser- 
vice to be rendered to the noble 
land owner. The tie which con- 
nected the vassal with his imme- 
diate suzerain was thus made the 
most close and efficient, which ex- 
isted in civil society. Each Bar- 
ony thus became a sort of military 
clan, directed by the sovereign 
will of its lord, and practically ir- 
responsible to king and constitu- 
tion. Eor the vassal, there might 
be some rights and franchises, 
guaranteed to him by the com- 
pact of his fief, on condition of his 
homage and service: but for all 
those who did not belong to the 
military caste, for the artizan, the 
merchant, the citizens of towns, 
there was practically no right, 
and no protection. The neigh- 
boring feudal chieftains were, as 
to them, irresponsible plunderers. 
The King, the nominal chief mag- 
istrate, was himself but the chief 
suzerain of the inferior laborers, 
wielding no other authority over 
them, but that of feudal compacts. 
It was, of course, vain to hope 
that a regal authority, resting 
only on a feudal basis, could be 
exercised to repress the excesses 
of the great feudatories. The con- 
sequence was, that plunder was 
the order of the day: and so far 
did the disorder proceed, that arts 


Industrial Gomhinations. 


and commerce were well nigh 
banished from many States of 
Western Europe. 

The industrial classes at length 
began to find, in the 11th and 12th 
centuries, this expedient. Living 
mainly in towns and cities, they 
combined to procure from the 
military barons who claimed au- 
thority over them, charters, con- 
ferring certain stipulated immuni- 
ties upon them, by the jealous 
preservation of which, a part of 
their rights and property at least, 
was secured from spoliation. — 
These charters were sometimes 
bought with money, sometimes 
bestowed in return for some valu- 
able service: and sometimes ex- 
tracted by the good right arms of 
the sturdy burghers, by hard 
blows. Kings, perceiving in these 
corporations, probable make- 
weights to counterpoise the power 
of the great feudatories, who 
were, practically, almost inde- 
pendent, soon found an interest 
in favoring these charter institu- 
tions, and in proposing themselves 
to the corporations as umpires 
and patrons. Thus was laid the 
foundation of the modern social 
order, before which feudalism has 
virtually disappeared from Eu- 
rope and America. Chief magis- 
trates protecting and employing 
the chartered communities against 
the feudal barons, found, in the 
former, elements of support by 
which they were gradually en- 
abled to consolidate their people, 
before little more than clusters of 
independent and discordant fiefs, 
into true nations. 

Corporate immunities sanctified, 
by charter-stipulations, were thus, 
the very fountains of all the 

rights and prosperity of the com- 
monalty. It is not strange that 
they were cherished as precious 
and admirable; and that the dis- 
position prevailed to extend them, 
as a shield of protection against 
military violence, over every 
species of interest. The monas- 
tery, the dean and chapter of the 
diocese, the very parson and 
wardens of the parish, aspired to 
become corporations in law, and 
to assert their chartered rights to 
their endowments, against greedy 
barons. The diflerent trades and 
professions in the towns were 
oi'ganized into "guilds," govern- 
ed within themselves, by strict by- 
laws, and guarding their common 
privileges with jealous public 
spirit. -Just as among the mili- 
tary caste, every tenure had as- 
sumed the form of a fief, so among 
the industrial classes, every fran- 
chise sought the sanction of the 
corporate charter. 

Now this tendency to favor in- 
corporations, and to exalt charter- 
ed rights, has been inherited by 
us, in full force, after the state of 
society,which presented the ration- 
al basis for these feelings, has 
been totally displaced. Feudal- 
ism has long been dead. The 
organization of modern society is 
no longer military, but civil. — 
The law, before which all classes 
in the State are equal, is in theory, 
supreme. The chief magistrate, 
in enforcing the law, acts directly 
upon individuals, and no longer 
upon fiefs. The State itself 
has become the comprehensive 
"guild," whose charter, (the con^ 
stitution and laws) extends abun- 
dant protection, if fairly executed, 
to each citizen, no matter what 


Industrial Combinations. 


his rank or pursuit. It is mani- 
fest that after this revolution of 
the social order, the ground for 
attaching the former value to the 
usage of incorporation, as the 
bulwark of individual rights, is 
all reversed. Yet the prejudice 
and the usage still continue ! 
Thus, out of this medisBval ex- 
pedient of the commonalty, is 
now rapidly growing a new aris- 
tocracy, which is acquiring, by 
the perversion of an institution 
which should have passed away 
with the occasion for it, class 
privileges, and exclusive powers, 
more odious than the feudal- 
chartered corporations were justly 
valued as a protection of the weak 
against irresponsible baronial 
power. No such power now ex- 
ists. These privileges have be- 
come, virtually, the expedients 
for arming favored individuals 
with powers of aggression against 
their fellows. 

Is it demanded then, that so- 
ciety shall exist without corporate 
combinations? This question will 
be asked, in a disdainful tone of 
incredulity,' by an age inordinate- 
ly devoted to material acquisition, 
and fully instructed in the ad- 
vantages of combination. Men 
find that "union is strength." 
The wondrous power evolved by 
large combinations of capital and 
labor, now especially that the 
material arts have furnished in- 
dustry with so many appliances for 
expediting its work, which are at 
once costly and efficient, set men 
all agog, to extend this system 
more widely than ever before. 
There is no likelihood that the 
excesses of it will be surrendered. 
In the din and turmoil of suc- 

cessful avarice, the warning of 
history will be scouted by the in- 
terested few, who gather the spoils 
of the system, and neglected by 
the many, who are the victims of 
the abuse. The overthrow of the 
liberty of the 19th century, by 
this unsuspected cause, appears 
therefore inevitable. But it is 
done the less, the duty of the 
philosophy to leave her warning 
on record. 

There are only two cases which 
present any fair pretext in the 
constitution of free society for in- 
corporating a part of the citizens 
with special privileges not com- 
mon to them all. One is where 
the work or function to be 
performed demands more means 
than can be ever found in the 
possession of an individual. One 
man is not found rich enough to 
build a whole railroad. Yet rail- 
roads are useful. The other case 
is, where the perpetuity of the 
function requires the retention of 
the means and management under 
the same direction for more than 
the life-time of one man. The 
railroad again, may be an in- 
stance. The rich man who be- 
gan one as an individual enter- 
prise, might, ia some cases, ex- 
pend his natural life without more 
than completing it. Hence, the 
law creates the artificial person, 
which never dies, a corporation 
to retain and manage so enduring 
an interest. Now, for the prose- 
cution of such enterprises, there 
are but two alternatives. Either 
chartered corporations of some 
citizens must be formed with spe- 
cial privileges, to execute them: 
or the State must execute them 
all herself, through her own 


Industrial Combinations. 


numerous officials; and thus make 
herself at once civil government, 
and the universal corporation. — 
The Commonwealth which should 
act out this scheme would become, 
literally, the to <av of human 
combinations, and her multifari- 
ous functions would cover all the 
forms of associated human action, 
except the family. The action of 
the British government, in recent 
times, does indeed approach this 
conception: for we see Parliament 
concerning itself, through its dif- 
ferent classes of State officials, 
with every conceivable function, 
from teaching the population 
Christianity, down to draining the 
marshy lands of the country. — 
The government, by thus making 
itself the only corporation, would, 
indeed, seem to guard effectually 
against partial class privileges. — 
But it would be only in seeming. 
The aggregate of business, money 
and power thus combined in the 
hands of government, would be too 
great for any administration except 
that of an omniscient mind. It 
would result in boundless official 
mismanagement and peculation. 
And it would convert a free gov- 
ernment into a species of Chinese 
despotism. Modern States, then, 
must have some corporate com- 
binations of a part of the citizens, 
for executing these useful ends. — 
But obviously, the principle we 
have developed requires tliat they 
shall not be causelessly multiplied ; 
tha't their privileges shall be jeal- 
ously limited to such as will en- 
able them for the useful works de- 
signed: that they shall be made 
to wear, as nearly as may be, the 
character of mere business firms; 
that the corporation, as an artifi- 

cial person, shall have no privi- 
lege whatsoever, which does not 
belong to every citizen, as a nat- 
ural person, by the constitution 
and laws. 

Xow, does the legislation of the 
American States regard these 
necessary cautions? Does it not 
madly disdain them? Combina- 
tions protected and privileged by 
law are the order of the day for 
everything. The material spirit 
of the age deliberately postpones 
everything to money; and it is 
enough for men to perceive that 
in the art of acquisition the old 
adage usually holds true, that 
'union is strength.' The old 
prejudice in favor of chartered as- 
sociations is loudly claimed, after 
every condition of society has been 
reversed, which gave them legiti- 
mate value; with the view of 
wielding peculiar privileges for 
selfish ends. "We have corpora- 
tions for everything: corporations 
to teach the arts and sciences to 
young men ; corporations to teach 
children ; corporations to construct 
railroads and canals ; corporations 
to carry parcels on the vehicles 
of these other corporations; cor- 
porations to navigate ships and 
steamers; corporations to manage 
the alleys and pigs of our villages; 
corporations to spin ; corporations 
to make clocks and watches; cor- 
porations to peg shoes; corpora- 
tions to make a nail; corporations 
to lend money and play Shylock 
for the community; corporations 
to insure our lives; a corporation 
to paint bank-notes for other bub- 
ble corporations; corporations to 
shake carpets, and associated com- 
panies to wash the linen of the 
" great unwashed." The picture 


Industrial Combinations. 


of the excess to which the institu- 
tion is carried by American so- 
ciety would be extremely ludi- 
crous, were it not too alarming. 

In explaining the dangers which 
have been intimated, let us begin 
with that which is, in itself, least 
important; the pecuniary evils 
attending the abuse of this sys- 
tem. These may be quickly per- 
ceived by the answer to the fol- 
lowing question: why do the per- 
sons who have capital and skill 
for a given business, prefer to pur- 
sue it under one of these power- 
ful chartered associations, rather 
than as, each man for himself, in- 
dividual adventurers? Obviously, 
because they know that they shall 
g6t more gain for the use of their 
capital and skill. Then of course, 
the rest of the people who employ 
them pay more for the service, 
than they would if served by in- 
dividuals. The evasion is, that 
this does not follow; because the 
combination of many men and 
much means enables the associa- 
tion to carry on that business so 
much mor4 skillfully and ef- 
ficiently that thereby, the pub- 
lic is served more cheaply, and 
the association is better reward- 
ed for its outlay. In most cases, 
this evasion is false. If there is 
an extensive improvement, which, 
on the one hand, costs many 
times as much as any one rich 
man possesses, and on the other 
hand, will, when completed, per- 
form its appointed work as much 
more cheaply than any other pos- 
sible agency, as its cost has ex- 
ceeded them, in this case the plea 
may be good. Such is the truth 
as to some railroads, when com- 
pared with existing country roads. 

But in a multitude of cases which 
claim to be similar, the advantage 
is utterly illusory : the public, af- 
ter giving the chartered privileges, 
gives more for the service than it 
had paid before. And in all cases 
where the business is one within 
the scope of individual wealth, the 
plea carries falsehood on its face. 
Why does the money-lender pre- 
fer to lend through a bank? Mon- 
ey-lending is a function which 
may be, with equal facility, ac- 
commodated to any amount of 
capital, large or small! His mo- 
tive is, that by the power of a 
banking corporation, he is en- 
abled to get more usury than he 
can legally get as an individual. — 
So the Yankee manufacturing cap- 
italist, who has means abundant 
to build one adequate cotton mill 
usually prefers not to do so as an 
individual adventurer, but to have 
a certain number of shares in 
some vast corporation owning a 
whole city of mills. Why? Be- 
cause he aims at the power of a 
monopolist, to a certain extent. — 
A ship owner possesses plenty of 
money to build and sail a steamer 
between New York and Charles- 
ton. But he prefers to put in his 
money as member of a " Steam- 
ship Company." Why? He has 
his eye on a monopoly of the 
coasting trade between the two 
ports: the meaning of which mo- 
nopoly is, to oppress the trading 
public, and plunder them in the 
shape of measured freights, by ex- 
cluding competition. But perhaps 
the most glaring instance of the 
plunder of a monopoly is that pre- 
sented by the great " Express- 
forwarding Companies:" charter- 
ed associations preposterously ere- 


Industrial Combinations. 


ated to do the duties of "com- 
mon carriers," on the vehicles of 
other companies designed by their 
very existence for the very same 
function, and which, if they are 
not fully competent to it, should 
be punished as delinquents. What 
reason on earth is there, that so 
humble and plain a function as 
the forwarding of parcels, and 
that too, where another agency 
had already been provided to exe- 
cute it should be armed by law 
with the power to levy gains so 
immense on the business of the 
country? See their pompous pal- 
aces in all our cities: their armies 
of sleek, pampered horses and 
officials; their share-holders divid- 
ing fabulous dividends, and roll- 
ing in wealth equal to that of a 
nation's revenues. What is that 
exalted function, for the perform- 
ance of which modern society re- 
wards them so splendidly? Only 
that which was performed for our 
forefathers by sturdy, simple wag- 
oners and ship-masters! Truly, 
we are a wise generation! This 
picture betrays the pecuniary re- 
sults of this perverse system: as 
being, in the main, extortionate 
and wasteful, and forming a fright- 
ful and iniquitous tax on the pro- 
ductive industry of the country. 

That these combinations for in- 
dustrial pursuits are, in most 
cases inimical to public wealth, is 
very plain from these facts : that 
they uniformly employ more cost- 
ly and wasteful means of admin- 
istration, than individual enter- 
prise would. The monopolist 
power which they wield, to rake 
together large piles of money, 
surely tempts the successful ma- 
nipulators and their families, and 

dependents, to wasteful luxuries 
of living; which are all unpro- 
ductive consumption; and thus 
devour the public means, while 
they corrupt the morals of all 

2. Money is power. Have men 
forgotten the maxim which our 
wise fathers taught us, from the 
lessons of historical experience? 
that " ivhere power is, thither power 
tends.''^ Need we repeat here the 
proofs and illustrations of this 
almost self-evident postulate? As 
long as man's heart is what it is, 
this centripetal tendency must ex- 
ist. Our fathers taught that in 
order that a republican equality 
of rights may exist among the 
citizens, no great inequality of 
wealth must be encouraged among 
them. Hence they felt that, in 
order to perpetuate republican 
government, they must needs 
abolish the rights of primogeni- 
ture, and thus provide for the re- 
distribution of property, and its 
equal division among the citizens. 
But we insanely create an aristoc- 
racy of active capital, equipped 
moreover with organizations and 
armies of trained officials and 
servants, tenfold more dangerous 
to the common liberties than a 
landed aristocracy. We arm 
them, under the pretext of facili- 
tating industrial pursuits, with 
the power of getting at once im- 
mense wealth and influence. — 
Must not the natural arrogance of 
wealth suggest the lust for more 
power? The power of organiza- 
tion already possessed, is employ- 
ed by them, first to enlarge their 
advantages and opportunities for 
getting more inordenate gains in 
the pursuits for which they were 


Industrial ComMnations. 


incorporated. It is for this pur- 
pose they at first enter the arena 
of political manoeuvre, and meas- 
ure their strength with party 
leaders and factions. Will not 
their success in this object sug- 
gest the thought of using their 
power also for further ends? The 
experience of the States with 
these associations has just now 
passed through this stage, and is 
approaching the next. The seniors 
among us can well remember how 
a mongrel corporation, in Phila- 
delphia, once challenged the whole 
force of the government of the 
United States, in the attempt to 
evade the surrender of its finan- 
ci^,! . monopoly, and almost came 
ofi" conquerors. Cotemporaries 
are not strangers to the influences 
which powerful railroad corpora- 
tions exert every winter, at Al- 
bany, corrupting and controlling 
the government of the great State 
of New York. There is a cor- 
poration in Maryland, whose 
revenues and resources are far 
larger, and whose employes are 
more numerous and devoted than 
those of the Commonwealth. In 
the provisional government of 
Virginia, this corporation of 
another State has actually wielded 
a power equal, or superior to, that 
of the true people of that once 
powerful and jealous Common- 
wealth. It is now no longer a 
strange thing to hear shrewd men 
explaining the action of legisla- 
tive bodies, by the outside influ- 
ences of powerful corporations. 
And, for a reason which will be 
unfolded anon, corporations may 
be expected to employ, for con- 
trolling rulers and legislators 
whom they wish to use, much 

more corrupt means, than their 
sense of decency would allow 
them to employ in support of in- 
dividual applications. Thus the 
virtue of the government is con- 
taminated, while its powers are 

The eager longing of this age 
is for republican equality before 
the law. The people had suffered 
so much in the 17th and 18th cen- 
turies from the tyranny of kings 
and landed nobles, and had seen 
the evils of the old privileged 
classes so painfully, that their 
passion in the early part of this 
century has been for the abolition 
of feudal privileges, and equality 
before the law. Their craving is 
destined to be disappointed, 
through their own shortsighted- 
ness ; and the enemy by which the 
great popular movement of the 
age is destined to be overthrown, 
is corporation. Out of these as- 
sociations will be developed a new 
oligarchy, a hundred-fold more 
ruthless and insatiable, as it is a 
hundred-fold less respectable and 
venerable, than the landed aristoc- 
racy which the spirit of the age 
has swept away. The forms of 
the American commonwealths 
are extravagantly democratic ; but 
already the true spirit of their 
government is that of oligarchy. 
Thus do extremes meet and gene- 
rate each other. The assurance 
of this calamitous disappointment 
of the hopes and labors of a 
whole century is to be seen in this 
fact: that deceivers and deceived 
alike, monopolists and victims, 
are so devoted to mere material 
good, as to disdain an admonition 
drawn from higher considerations. 
The whole force of our argument, 


Industrial Combinations. 


and of all similar ones, better ut- 
tered by others, will undoubtedly 
be neutralized by the single as- 
sertion that these associations 
seem to present a more ready way 
to make money. 

3. One prime motive of busi- 
ness men for preferring corporate 
to individual enterprise is, that 
the laws of these privileged asso- 
ciations authorize them to make 
the industrial adventure, and in- 
cur pecuniary obligations, without 
making their own property re- 
sponsible therefor. Only the cap- 
ital stock of the association is 
bound for the debts of the associa- 
tion: the corporators, acting in 
their combined capacity, may de- 
liberately incur liabilities far be- 
yond the assets of the association, 
and yet, under the plea of the dis- 
tinction between their corporate, 
and their personal possession, 
may retain their wealth, while 
their just creditors demand their 
dues in vain. So licentious and 
flagrant has the legislation of 
many States become, that not 
content with incorporating these 
privileged plunderers by special 
act, in almost countless cases, 
they have 6ven enacted general 
laws, by a sweeping clause ta- 
abling any persons to associate 
themselves into a firm or co-part- 
nership, for the ostensible pur- 
pose of pursuing any business • to 
which firm the simple form of ad- 
vertising gives this odious privi- 
lege of contracting debts without 
becoming responsible for their 
payment. The excuse is, in part, 
that the law requires them to ad- 
vertise their capital stock; so that 
the business public is informed of 
the extent to which the firm is 

bound: and if they trust them far- 
ther, the fault is their own. The 
answer is, that if the privilege is 
unjust, as will be shown, the ex- 
cuse is wholly inadequate. How 
audacious is the sophism, that the 
wrong of a transgressor may be 
made right by its publication be- 
forehand? Besides, the legal per- 
son in these quasi corporations, to 
which the responsiblility for debt 
is limited, being purely artificial, 
when its visible assets are exhaust- 
ed, there is nothing else against 
which the creditors can have their 
just resort. There is no actual 
person: stat nomims umbra. — 
Whence it is plain that this pub- 
lication is not a fair and adequate 
protection of the business public. 

The other plea is this: that it 
is an encouragement of enterprise, 
to enable some adventurous men 
to make experiment of efi'orts 
which may result in general ad- 
vantage, without risking more 
than a definite part of their means. 
Were the privilege only granted 
to new and untried enterprises, 
this plea might be a little more 
plausible. But we see it extended 
to a thousand lines of business, as 
old as civilized society; in which, 
if any where, any man who is fit 
to meddle with them, can ascer- 
tain the prospects beforehand. — 
But the more full answer is, that 
such encouragement ought not to 
be given. It is neither for the fi- 
nancial nor moral advantage of 
society. The proper encourage- 
ment for enterprises which prom- 
ise general advantage, and yet are 
hazardous because of novelty, is a 
cautious system of bounties, paid 
at the common expense. In all 
"ther cases, business adventure. 


Industrial Comhinations. 


more reckless than a prudent re- 
gard for the adventurer's own pri- 
vate estate will justify, is mis- 
chievous, and only mischievous, 
and should be repressed, instead 
of stimulated. The interests of 
commerce loudly demand just the 
guarantee against reckless enter- 
prise which is presented by the 
jeopardy of the adventurer's own 
estate. The thirst for adventure 
in excess: it is one of 

the keenest and most active pro- 
pensities of the human heart. — 
When an ill-considered enterprise 
is carried on to disastrous results, 
if the adventurer is protected, 
other men are plundered of the 
means expended in the abortive 
experiment. He who made the 
blunder should pay the cost. — 
Otherwise it is iniquity: it is a 
radical injustice, which no con- 
siderations of policy can justify. 

This suggests the moral effects 
of all these special privileges to 
business enterprises. These are 
deplorable in every aspect. The 
system, as We have seen, fosters 
recklessness, which is always akin 
to, and almost always gives occa- 
sion to dishonesty. It familiar- 
izes the minds of all parties to re- 
sults, which we have shown, are 
essential iniquities. The legalized 
plunderer, if he has a conscience, 
lives self- degraded by the reten- 
tion of wealth which, he feels, be- 
longs to his injured fellow men: 
they are tempted by the natural 
sense of indignation, to meditate 
redress by similar means ; for has 
not the law itself, the very expo- 
nent of justice, countenanced 
them? Hence, in part, that grow- 
ing absence of commercial integ- 
rity, that frightful dissolution 
YOL. V. NO. I. 

of moral principle, of which we 
hear so much complaint, and 
which, we are told, has rendered 
the commercial marts of America 
like dens of wolves ravening for 

4. One more evil influence of 
this system upon the virtue of so- 
ciety remains to be explained. 
Business combinations acting 
through officials have now been 
carried so far, that scarcely any- 
thing is done by men in their in- 
dividual capacity. Do you want 
a parcel carried, by sea or land? 
It is not done for you by any in- 
dividual ship-master, or carrier, 
acting under the moral restraints 
of a personal conscience and re- 
sponsibility; but by an Express 
or Navigation "Company." Do 
you buy a pair of shoes? You do 
not get them from the shop of a 
shoe-maker: but of some "shoe- 
company," in Yankee land. Do 
you need a handful of nails ? 
Some Iron company must be in- 
voked to produce them. Do you 
wish your person transported ? 
You commit it to a railroad com- 
pany. So it is, to the end of the 
chapter. Now it was remarked 
by Sir Edward Coke, that "cor- 
porations have no souls," and the 
proposition is true in another 
sense than that of the legal ab- 
straction which he meant to ex- 
press. They have no moral sense: 
no conscience. Their own legal 
personality is artificial; and the 
moral responsibility of their acts 
is so sub-divided among the ac- 
tual persons who comiDose the 
body, that it is felt no where. 
The executive hand of the body 
is a set of hired officials. These 
also divest themselves of moral 



Industrial Combinations. 


responsibility for the oflScial acts: 
for are not these the acts of the 
corporation, which employs them 
as inanimate tools? The only in- 
fluence which personal conscience 
has in them is to produce official 
fidelity to the interests of the 
corporation. Thus, the business 
code of all these associations has 
come to be as utterly heartless as 
though the world recognized no 
God, or right, or hell. Every 
shrewd man understands perfect- 
ly, when he has dealings with 
them, that they are to be expected 
to treat him no more justly than 
actual necessity, or selfish policy 
may dictate. The man who 
should hope for more at their 
hands, would be laughed at as a 
soft fool! 

Thus this system of privileged 
combinations is an ingenious arti- 
fice, (as efficacious for the purpose 
as though invented for it,) for 
banishing conscience and hearty 
integrity out of the world. But 
our duty to God sets this interest 
of virtue in the first place. The 
very existence and well-being of 
society depends on its virtue. Or 
has the " cuteness" of this Yan- 
kee age exploded this, as a delu- 
sion of the dark ages? At all 
events, we find that Madison, 

Calhoun, Jackson, "Washington, 
and Solomon believed it to be 
true. Hence the true statesman 
will, for this high and solemn con- 
sideration, always prefer individ- 
ual to corporate action, where he 
is not driven to the latter by ab- 
solute necessity. 

The crowning objection then, ^ 
to this prevalent system is, that it ^ 
is unfavorable to the virtue of so- 
ciety. It swells the volume of 
that flood of dishonesty, which 
threatens to dissolve the very 
foundations of the age, andplunge 
it into another chaos of barbarism. 
And this is the chief influence, by 
which the system manifests itself 
to the thoughtful mind, as the ap- 
pointed destroyer of the constitu- 
tional free governments, and of 
the civilization of the 19th centu- 
ry. A little reflection, following 
out the hints given above, will 
convince the reader, that without 
the influences of this system at 
the North, the recent revolution, 
by which that people have destroy- 
ed the constitution of the United 
States could not have occurred. — 
Hitherto, the agency of the indus- 
trial combinations has been to 
promote, by manifold influences, 
political centralization. This is 
Act I. of the tragedy. 

1868.] The Seven Pines. 35 


Fancied voices, as of ghosts speaking, when, of late, I heard the night- 
winds sweeping through the trees on the hattle-field. 


Sad-hearted Southron, as you stray, 
Like Sorrow's Ghost o'er fields of glory, 
"Where spectral forms, in weeds of gray. 
Stand in your path or cross your way, 
And wail, in witch-like voice, a story — 
Why do you pause? ' Tis but a seeming — 
A sigh of pines, or dead men dreaming! 

1st pine— the undaunted. 

Pale pilgrim, list my sigh alone — 
A dreary ceaseless monotone, 
But, like the Surge on Sumter's shore. 
It speaks where glory spoke before. 
As unseen mortals who implore 
From tree and flower and stone! 
A hushed complaint is in the air — 
Kot told to men who do not dare 
But to the winds which will be free 
Despite of storm and tyranny ! 

' Tis whispered everywhere — 
" Say not our cause is lost — was vain — 
Or ghostly troops shall sweep the plain — 
We'll fight the battles o'er again! 
There's nothing lost where men will give 
Their lives in honor's cause to live: 
No tyrant can the dead control — 
Who breaks the heart can't rule the soul!" 

2nd pine— the cautious. 

' Tis man to man is most unjust, 

36 The Seven Pines. [May, 

And brother least his brother knows — 

E'en those who say, "In God we trust," 

Their lying littleness disclose — 

Man's nature leads him, right or wrong, 

And oftimes "right " means " wc are strong," 

Therefore beware our foes! 

3ed pine— the cowardly. 

Good pilgrim, there's no Summer air 
Can still the voice that in me dwells, — 
Its cry is all of dark despair, 
And many a gloomy hap foretells. 
All of the old " I told you so," 
"Which turns to anguish every woe, 
And not a cloud dispels. 

4th pine— the reproachful. 

The craven cry of time who feels 

The lesser woes of little life — 

The coward's wailing, which reveals 

The cause of war — the loss of strife — ' 

The nothings, who, with failing hearts. 

Invite the woes which tyrants give — 

Who lack the honor which imparts 

The claim to manhood — right to live — 

"Who fear to speak — who dare not die. 

And shrink from kind Eternity! 

5th pine— the chivalrous. 

Who cannot sufler, cannot dare! 
Misfortune may be everywhere, 
But, while a free heart holds its home, 
A spirit-glory makes sublime 
Each stony road o'er which we roam- 
It leads us into honor's clime — 
Each noble deed it sanctifies 
And makes the mind a paradise ! 

6th pine— the suffering. 
Ah, kinder winds from Norway blow 

1868.] The Seven Pines. 37 

Than o'er the constant Northern snow — 

E'en Lapland lying like a ghost, 

With pine trees singing her to sleep, 

And night prevailing on her coast, 

Awakes in tears when others weep! 

And dreamy Egypt, in her bed, 

"With Love's-witch toying in her hair, 

And love awake, and joy not sped, 

"Would, when she heard the cry — " Despair!" 

Kefuse her wild desires to leave — 

Kush from her love-couch quick to save — 

"Weep out the passion in her eyes 

O'er others dreadful destinies, 

And arm her lover for the grave! 

7th pine — THE HOPEFUL. 

The stars, which seem like angels eyes, 
' So full of love and light and hope, 

Still, hold their watch in quiet skies, — 

And though in murky clouds we grope, 

Bright day shall streak the night above, 
^ And, as our foes shall act in love, 

So shall our hearts resistance cease — 

Hope smile, and Heaven accord us peace! 

Kot distant is that better time, 

When all the orbs above shall seem 

To light lost reason to each clime 

And carry Korth the dead men's dream! 
Charleston, S. C. john templeton. 


Mary Ashburton. 




Our breakfast was a silent, 
gloomy one. With difficulty I 
swallowed a cup of coffee. Even 
father ate in silence and with less 
appetite than usual. Mother bust- 
led about providing for my comfort 
in her homely way, even lay- 
ing up a store of her cake and bis- 
cuit, to be sent with my clothes 
to the Grove, supposing that the 
change would be felt less keenly 
with these little softenings. I re- 
member noting how the clock 
ticked that morning on the high 
black mantel, the bright china or- 
naments and agricultural speci- 
mens that decked it also, the gay 
carpet with the rainbows running 
up and down, even the fire that 
crackled ' good night' upon the 
hearth; they all wore such a 
meaning look. 

I think my parents felt this 
thing very deeply then. When 
first mentioned they had not real- 
ized it, and in the ambition of see- 
ing their daughter mistress of the 
Grove, bearing the aristocratic 
Chauncey name, they had lost 
sight of the attendant unhappi- 
ness that such exaltation must 
bring with it to their child. 

In his heart I believe my father 
anathematized the hour in which 
he had referred the matter to my- 
self, to my judgment which he 
had assisted as he thought by his 
own opinion, — and mother's eyes 
were swollen with tears as she 
moved about, impatiently hand- 

* Continued from page 50J, vol.4. 

ling her much prized treasures. 
Father was fretful and cross, more 
so than I had ever seen him. 

I almost swooned when moth- 
er's trembling hands arrayed me 
for the ceremony. My dress was 
a plain, gray silk, for I wished to 
look as little like a bride as pos- 
sible, not to taunt him there at 
the altar with a raiment that 
would remind him of her who was 
to have stood beside him, whom 
his aching heart yet called for 
with outraged, yet clinging, in- 
tense adoration. I wore a mantle 
and bonnet of the same hue, a 
delicate blue wreath around the 

" You look very iDale, daught- 
er," said father, " don't be fright- 
ened, my dear child." 

He said nothing more, but I 
could see that he was moved in 
his blunt way. That was his way 
of showing grief always; an eflbrt 
to conceal it under a rough, blunt 
manner, which, unconsciously to 
himself, softened into tenderness 
on this morning. 

When the carriage was at the 
door,— only the sight of their al- 
most angry reluctance gave me 
strength to enter it — my inward 
agitation was terrible. 

I looked around me. It was a 
showery April morning, alternate- 
ly sunshine and a light, sprink- 
ling rain that did not always ob- 
scure the sun-beams which shone 
through it in glimmering, broken 
radiance as pleasure and sorrow so 


Mary Ashburton. 


near together in our human life ; 
the washed sky coming out fresh 
and blue after the weeping pro- 

I never heard the birds sing 
more sweetly, or loved the violets 
as well. As I passed to the car- 
riage I trod inadvertently upon a 
daffodil that moved a little farther 
than the rest in a clump, and 
crushed it to the ground. Al- 
most weeping — I didn't want tliem 
to see me weep — I stooped to put 
it in its place again, supporting it 
among the others, for it grieved 
me that my last act at home was 
to crush the life from one of my 
innocent friends. 

Seated in the carriage I glanced 
back into the dear bright old 
lioine room. The fire was smould- 
ering on the hearth, the ashes had 
rolled down between the sparkling 
brass and were scattered over the 
3ricks, — mother's great horror. — 
The tea-pot yet simmered among 
them, the coffee sent up a faint 
steam from the dear old pot that 
my hands had rubbed so often; 
the table standing just as of old, 
and the great sideboard beyond. 
All those dear simple objects I no- 
ted as father took his seat and the 
carriage rolled away, just catch- 
ing a farewell glimpse of the clock, 
pointing to half past seven, the 
table and the china between the 
portals of the door, as we wheeled 
around and rode off. 

"We were to meet them at the 
church. It was a melancholy 
looking procession; my parents 
with me, the boys in another car- 
riage. I have no space to linger 
over the details, the remarks of 
that morning; my little brothers' 
opposition and wondering sur- 

mises, the servants' also; it would 
make my story, which I wish as 
simple as possible, too long. I had 
bidden them a hasty adieu, too 
hasty to listen even to their well 
wishes, or their expressions of 
surprise which they had under- 
stood from the first that I did not 

Very few remarks were made 
during our ride; mother alone in- 
terrupting the silence by some 
motherly warnings about my 
health, my wardrobe and other 
little matters that a mother alone 
would think of, caring for me in a 
way that made me more conscious 
than I had ever been of the love 
she bore me and I her. When we 
have blessings, the usual ones that 
God gives us, how little conscious- 
we are of their value, till they are 
removed from us— a hackneyed re- 
mark, yet ever new as long as the 
world stands — they are so wound 
about our being, so entangled in 
our heart-strings that we scarcely 
know of their possession till the 
strings are broken and the loved 
object withdrawn. Ah! no one 
cared for me as she did, though 
no congeniality and scarcely a tie 
save that of parent and child, ex- 
isted between us. 

When the town drew in sight, 
I trembled and sank back in the 
intense desire for escape, and 
when mother said, " The Grove 
carriage is there," I could have 
torn open the door by me and run 
through the fields away ; anything 
to escape seeing him then. 

My eyes were closed! — oh! if I 
could only keep them so. I knew 
when the carriage stopped where 
we were. I heard father help 
mother out. 


Mary Ashburton. 


" Come, Mary, get out," my fa- 
ther took hold of me with unusual 
tenderness in his touch, " child, 
you must get out." 

I had grown very faint, but I 
allowed him to help me; I knew 
that the other gentlemen were 
near, but they thought that fa- 
ther would do best just then, I 
suppose, at least the elder one did, 
and alighted at the gate where 
Adele had done before me in her 
splendor of dress and beauty. — 
Mr. Chauncey saluted me, then 
took me up to Alfred, who stood a 
pace or two off. 

Did he speak to me? I do not 
know. I knew only that he was 
there, that Mr. Chauncey released 
my hand and placed it in Alfred's 
arm, who could not fail then to 
perceive my extreme agitation. — 
I felt him look down at me; he 
was not lost, as he deemed him- 
self, to all human feeling. 

"Poor child," he muttered, 
with an accent of pity in his dry, 
hollow tones, " I am most truly 
sorry for your fate." 

Agitated as I was I could scarce- 
ly keep the tears from flowing. — 
But he had spoken kindly to me, 
and suddenly I was wonderfully 
supported. Like a drooping plant 
I revived under this drop, and en- 
tered the church with a firmer 
step. One furtive glance at Al- 
fred's face showed me his wild, 
despairing eye, his wan, ghastly 
visage. It will be mine to draw 
himfrom this, I whispered to my- 
self, though this scene adds to his 
torture now. Oh! my Father, 
give me strength, trembling and 
awed as I am. 

There was no one in the church; 
the early hour and the secrecy 

with which it had been conducted 
preventing all intrusion. The 
clergyman was already there, 
standing before the chancel rail in 
his white robes. It was no time 
for thought. Like an automaton 
I moved with him up the aisle, 
banishing feeling which would 
have broken down all composure; 
he equally lifeless from a writhing 
sense of mockery he was engaged 

But a few steps and we stood 
before the altar — a few words, — 
was it possible? — pronounced us 
man and wife. 

Bewildered, I leffj^the altar with 
him, was rejoined by our parents, 
received their silent kisses. 

" Good-bye. God bless you, my 
child," said Mr. Chauncey, em- 
bracing me cordially. " Take 
care of my boy," he whispered, 
"bear with him for a while; your 
sweetness and skill cannot fail to 
bring him around. Farewell." 

He stepped into the carriage, 
that was waiting to conduct him 
to the boat, and was gone. 

It was scarcely a farewell from 
my parents, our homes were so 
near, when they placed me in 
the Grove state carriage. IIow 
strange! — the same that had so 
often held the queenly Mrs. Chaun- 
cey and her fashionable guests. 

We were alone then. I looked 
up in his face when I had gathered 
courage. It was stern and gloom v, 
his brows contracted, his eyes 
looking far away through the 
window, as if he saw nothing 
around him in his absent gaze. 

The ride was but a few miles. 
Once he glanced towards me, his 
eye softening at the expression of 
my face as I sat trembling and 


Mary Ashburton. 


timid at his side, and he spoke, 
again with that accent of pity in 
his tone. 

"Poor child ! you chose unwise- 
ly. I wish for your sake that it 
had been otherwise." 

He seemed to regard me but as 
a child, and I felt unable every 
way to correct the impression. I 
had no power to move or show 
vitality at that moment, for the 
passiveness of a dream had come 
over me and I quietly suffered 
everything, went through every 
form in that state of half- uncon- 
sciousness. Such a bridal pair ! 
I looked from my window, he from 
his. I noted the woods, the wav- 
ing wheat fields, the sloping banks 
and • the meadows as we rode 
along, thinking that each one as 
it appeared brought us to our des- 
tination. I was glad, for I longed 
to be rid of this oppressive silence 
and stiffness and to be about my 

At last it came in sight. I mind 
the stately avenue well, the waving 
poplars and chestnuts, sweeping 
over the roof of the carriage as we 
drove under their overhanging 
boughs, the bold sweep of the lawn 
up to the imposing portico. 

There was no one to welcome 
me ; all had a silent, gloomy, de- 
serted air, lacking the life-giving 
presence of a mistress. Desolation 
appeared to have swept over the 
scene, leaving the objects there, 
but taking away the life from 
them. I remember noting as we 
drove up that one of the shutters 
on the cupola, hung loose in its 
hinges and slammed to and fro in 
the breeze, a sign of decay. 

"With the courteousness he would 
have shown to a stranger, nothing 

more, Alfred assisted me to alight, 
conducted me up the steps into the 
hall, where one or two of the old 
family servants, who had not been 
dismissed met us. 

"Where is Melissa ?" asked 
their young master of these. 

They went to summon her and 
presently a bright looking mulatto 
woman of middle age presented 

"Show this lady her apartments," 
he said to her, "and see that she 
has every comfort and attention." 

" Your servant, missy, " she 
replied with a low curtsey, "I'll 
show you the room that old master 
had fixed for you." 

"Pardon me," said Alfred to 
me in a low tone. "I — I go to 
make some arrangements. See 
that you are obeyed and cared for, 
and — be as happy as you can." 
He turned away choked with 

" Do not fear for me," I found 
voice to say, "I will take care of 

He looked relieved and turned 
away. I followed the old woman 
up the broad staircase, my feet 
seeming to tread upon air as I 
ascended by such easy grades, 
accustomed as I was to the nar- 
row, winding stairs at home, with 
their short, stumping steps. 

A broad, handsome passage, 
with the doors from various apart- 
ments opening upon it, received 
me at the head of the strairs. 

" Master had this room prepar- 
ed for you, madam," said Melissa 
with old time courteousness. She 
opened a door as she spoke and 
introduced me into a large, ele- 
gant apartment, stately in old 
fashioned furniture. 


Mary Ashburton. 


"This room was ?" I asked 

and hesitated. 

"A company room, madam," 
she curtseyed again, "Missis' 
room is locked up now and mas- 
ter gave me the key to give to 

She produced it as she spoke, 
and I took it half hesitatingly as 
if I had no right for it to be sur- 
rendered to me, internally mar- 
veling at the strange chain of cir- 
cumstances that had given me 
such right in Mr. Chauncey's 
house, the right to hold that key 
as Alfred's wife. My face I felt 
to crimson at the thought as the 
old domestic looked at me, and I 
wished most earnestly to be alone 
that I might recover from the con- 
fusion I was afraid of showing in 
her presence. 

She was too well trained, how- 
ever, to intrude long, and inter- 
preting my dithdence, I suspect, 
showed me the various conven- 
iences of the apartment, offering 
to unpack my trunks and ar- 
range the dresses in the wardrobe ; 
showed me the bell, then with 
another curtsey asked my per- 
mission to retire. I must have 
shown myself most unsophistica- 
ted, for in answer to her inquiries 
concerning this and that thing to 
be done, I could hardly conceal 
my ignorance, with difficulty un- 
derstanding her terms. 

Old master, she said, had or- 
dered dinner at such an hour to- 
day, would I have it always at 
that time? and did I like this 
thing or that thing ? she went 
through the whole vocabulary of 
French cookery till I was bewil- 

Most relieved was I to be left 

alone, to be allowed time ta 
breathe and collect my thoughts. 

The servant had disposed of my 
bonnet and mantle, so there was 
nothing for me to do but to 

Think! how could I do that? 
In his house— alone there with 
him I Where was he? and what 
was he doing now that his un- 
welcome, unloved bride was there? 

His coldness— did it hurt me? 
No, no, I could expect nothing 
else. I clasped my hands over 
the aching heart and walked about 
the room. 

Eich silk curtains swept over 
the windows. Putting one aside, 
I looked out over the lawn, try- 
ing to catch a glimpse of him 
without whom I cared for nothing 

He did not appear and the hours 
grew long and wearisome. I had 
nothing to do, was tired of the 
same room, yet too shy to show 
myself alone in the lower apart- 
ments, to be stared at by the ser- 
vants, or perhaps encounter my — 
my husband — I could not whis- 
per the word to myself as yet — 
for I dreaded meeting him as if I 
was an intruder or a spy upon his 
grief, interfering with his privi- 
leges of home. 

Noon had advanced and I was 
sitting disconsolately at the win- 
dow, my hands folded upon my 
knee, when there was a knock at 
the door. Upon my giving per- 
mission to enter, Melissa came in 
with a waiter of refreshments. 

" Young master says, wont you 
have something to eat. Madam?" 
she said, dropping her usual curt- 

" He? did young Mr. Chauncey 


Mary Ashhurton. 


send you here?" I asked eagerly. 

" Yes, Madam, he rang the bell 
to see if you was properly attend- 
ed to. Miss, and I told him how 
I'd see to you." 

" Where is heV" I asked breath- 
lessly, " I thought — " here I 
checked myself in what I was 
about to add. 

" In his own room, Madam." 

Kow that I knew I could hear 
the distant beat of a restless foot 
pacing the floor. 

" Is he not coming out? — does 
he want nothing?" I asked, too 
eager for information to observe 
my usual taciturnity where he 
was concerned. 

"Ko, Madam, he wants noth- 
ing. . I begged him to eat, but he 
jus^ waved me off with his hands 
and I daren't say another word, 
so jest come out." 
^ "Did he — did he look sick, or 
very badly?" 

" Well, Miss, he didn't look no 
worse than he has done ever since 
— these times." 

" He ordered this, you say?" 

" Yes, Miss, he rang the bell 
and I went to see what he wanted, 
'cause I was his nurse and loved 
him like my own child. He stop- 
ped in his walk and said, ' Let the 
young lady want for nothing. See 
that she is attended to, and take 
her some refreshments,' then 
waved me ofi'and I had to come." 

I painfully swallowed a morsel. 
"Take this away," I said and 
walked again to the window that 
she might not witness my emo- 
tion. When alone I indulged in 
a burst of tears. I longed to go 
to him. Why could I not? I 
had the right given me that morn- 
ing by the priestly sanction. Ah! 

the oflTer of the universe could not 
have tempted me to invade the 
privacy of that chamber. Oh! 
those long dreary, sickening hours! 
I wanted to see home and parents, 
my dear little pets and flowers — 
yet still that closed door contain- 
ed what was more precious to me 
than all, and the right of being 
there was enough to make me 
happy of itself. 

I suddenly resolved not to re- 
main there a prisoner any longer ; 
and hearing a singular beating 
sound outside my door, I went 
and opened it. To my surprise, 
Leo, our old house dog, sprang up 
and greeted me with a joyful bark, 
putting his paws on my shoulders 
and rubbing his shaggy head 
against my dress. 

I was pleased and affected, de- 
lighted at seeing a familiar, loving 
face in my strange, cold home. I 
constituted him at once my com- 
panion, and felt protection from 
strangers in his affectionate socie- 
ty, so putting my hand on his 
rough head, we went solemnly 
down stairs together to survey the 
premises. I had gathered some 
courage to move about now that I 
was certain of not encountering 
Alfred who was in his room and 
not being considered an intruder. 

When we got down stairs I 
timidly opened the dining-room 
door. It was as it had been when 
I supped there in childish years. 
Melissa was there arranging some 
glass on the sideboard. 

"Would'nt you like me to show 
you where the things is kept, 
madam ?" she suggested. 

"Yes," I replied, "I partly came 
for that." 

She showed me the great side- 


Mary Ashhurton. 


board with its handsome contents, 
where the silver was kept, its 
various arrangements, — then took 
me in the parlor. How grand it 
looked to my unsophisticated eyes ! 
Many a rich piece of needlework 
was there, embroidered by the 
hands of the late unfortunate lady 
of the house. The rosewood fur- 
niture with their seats of royal 
purple velvet were covered with 
linen, but the splendid carpet of 
so many brilliant, beautiful dyes 
that it was hard to distinguish the 
predominating one, save the rich 
background of shaded purple, gave 
the room a lively look. In the 
corner were marble statuettes and 
on the low, pure white mantel 
were lofty alabaster vases of the 
Etruscan shape. In the centre of 
the room stood a table of peculiarly 
rich workmanship, the legs of 
which formed a lily with the broad 
leaves folding so as to support the 
slab of marble at the top. On the 
centre of this stood an alabaster 
vase with carved lilies arising from 
its brim, so exquisitely delicate 
and pure that I was lost in admir- 
ation of its sculpture. A golden 
goblet with Alfred's name stood on 
one side, a purple velvet Bible 
with golden clasps on the other 
of this beautiful ornament. Me- 
lissa had thrown the windows 
open for me to see. It had not 
been done before, she said, since 
Mrs. Chauncey's death. 

" To tell the truth," she added, 
"we didn't take much care of 
nothin. We heard old master 
was broke, and all we had to be 
scattered, so we thought the 
house, furniture, and everything 
belonging here, would be done 
just so by, so we let the things go." 

" Are you glad that it is not as 
you expected ?" I asked. 

" Yes, miss, I am. 'Cause it's 
hard to be driven from your old 
home where ye expect to end your 
days, to go along of strangers. 
"We was all glad when old master 
told us to let things go on as 
usual, that we was not to go. We 
all love Mars Alfred, and like to 
live with him — for he's a mighty 
good young man, for all that — 
treated him so. Then old master 
told us yesterday who was comin', 
so we was glad of that too, for 
we thought, maybe it'ud save 
young master, and make him 
forget that — " 

At these blanks she shook her 
head till her bright turban al- 
most fell olf, expressing indigna- 
tion and disgust so strongly as 
her features were capable of. 

I went to the low window 
where that young, beautiful pair 
stood seven years ago, he with 
his boyish admiration, she in her 
loveliness and girlish coquetry. 
What changes had passed over 
them — over us all since. I, who 
had watched them so wistfully 
then, so insignificant in my plain- 
ness beside the budding beauty, 
the elegant heir, was now the 
mistress of that home, saved by 
my patrimony from the hands of 
the law. But — alas I I was insig- 
nificant still— a bride who had not 
seen the bridegroom since directly 
after the ceremony. I felt no ex- 
ultation, but so thankful that my 
money had saved it. I looked 
from the window on the noble 
scene, the smooth, green turf of the 
lawn just below with the trunks of 
the stately trees arising from it at 
intervals, to the iron trellis- work 


Mary Asliburton. 


that formed the entrance to the 
garden, some forty yards distant, 
and I loved it all for his sake. 
If he but loved me, I sighed, how 
happy I would be, here, with so 
much that is beautiful to gratify 
my tastes. To see this, and do for 
him what I can, is all that I can 
have for comfort. But — oh! so 
much sweeter than that life-long 
desolation I feared. 

"Would'ntyou like to see the 
pantry, missy ?" asked Melissa, 
who had been uncovering some 

" To think of missis' work 
bein' sold," she added reflectively, 
looking on the result of her opera- 

"It would have been a sorrow- 
ful /thing," I replied, "I am 
ready to look elsewhere now." 

We went to the store-room, 
where my practised eye discovered 
m,uch that was wanting, and 
which I inwardly resolved to sup- 
ply from our own abundant one at 
home, to the pantry, a small china 
shop in its way, with splendid 
glass and porcelain, ranged on 
its shelves down to the homelier 
and more useful articles for fur- 
nishing the table, to the dairy, 
(I suspect she thought I felt my- 
self at home there for the first 
time) to the ground rooms where 
various articles were stored away, 
showing me the use of each, and 
familiarising me with them. 

There were many things amiss 
which must be rectified in the fu- 
ture, I thought, and addressed 
her several observations which 
proved my competency, in that 
respect, at least, for assuming the 
post of mistress, 

Then Leo and I took a walk on 

the lawn and about the garden. — 
How vivid it all was— the scene of 
the past. Adele and her boy 

But it was too painful and I 
would not let my thoughts dwell 
upon it, so I turned them as quickly 
as I could. 

The garden was sadly neglect- 
ed ; — many of the vines had fallen 
down and were trailing about the 
paths destitute of leaves, and the 
rose bushes were scraggy where 
the branches showed themselves 
through a wilderness of beauty 
blushing around them. 

I paused before some magnifi- 
cent pinks of every hue, from 
crimson to white spotted with 
rose color and hyacinths, to 
pull up the weeds that were 
choking their growth. This I did 
in several places, feeling greatly 
relieved at having something to 
do. Then we wandered about 
the walks, up and down the violet 
banks, shaded with a grove of 
horse chestnuts, firmly bound to- 
gether with gigantic grape vines, 
that ran network along the bor- 
der for some space on the left 
garden boundary. It was a queer 
garden when you left the first, 
regularly planned borders, sur- 
prising you with quaint little 
nooks where the vinework formed 
a most unexpected arbor, or a 
rill gushed out at the base of a 
flowery, sloping bank. A great, 
thick hedge of yews formed its 
termination, between the stems of 
which now torn asunder and sad- 
ly neglected, I could see a field of 
wheat beyond. Here the rill 
dashed from a stone basin into 
this part of the garden, rippling 
away half concealed until it joined 


Mary Ashhurton. 


that nearer the centre. 1 washed 
my hands, soiled with the earth I 
had shaken from the plants, and 
Leo and I proceeded to the lawn. 

The slanting rays of the sun 
were gilding its rich, green sur- 
face, or sinking into luxurious 
softness where the long shadows 
of the trees lay. I felt no longer 
alone as I drank in nature's beau- 
ty; while lingering there the sun- 
beams warmed me into love for it 
all, and my heart turned with re- 
doubled affection to the poor, 
lonely sufferer above. 

The old waiter that I had seen 
before, came out just then with his 
white apron on and the tray under 
his arm as he had done seven years 
before to so different a party. 

"Dinner is ready, madam," he 
said with great solemnity. 

"Will he be there, thought I, as I 
retraced my steps to the door. 
Surely I shall see him now. Yet, 
though my heartbeat with intense 
anxiety to see him, I felt afraid to 
encounter his eye and shy of meet- 
ing him as the mistress of his 
house. To sit at the head of his 
table — oh ! I should sink through 
the floor. 

As my foot touched the bottom 
step, a hand reached forward and 
raising my startled eyes, I met 
Alfred's dark, stern gaze. 

" You have been lonesome ?" 
he said questioningly. "I pity 
you, but know of no consolations 
to offer." 

He cpnsole, when he looked as 
if he had been wrestling with de- 
spair ! Oh ! he did not know that 
the inability to console him was 
my greatest trouble, what was my 
loneliness to that ! 

I did not tell him so but stupidly 

stammered, "I — I— did not care." 
His face grew darker still. "To 
be tied to such a woman with 
neither sense nor feeling," no 
doubt was his reflection. He 
turned off with an air which I in- 
terpreted. "But then it's better 
as it is," and took his seat at the 
foot of the table, while I timidly 
took the other seat, placed for me 
at the head. 

For the first time I presided 
over Mrs. Chauncey's table. The 
old waiter stood there to serve, I 
uncertain whether to be glad or 
sorry for his presence. Alfred 
helped me with an absent, though 
courteous air, placed something 
upon his own plate which he 
scarcely touched, then seemed lost 
in thought, from which he started 
once or twice to say something to 
me, the attempt failing him before 
the words were formed upon his 
lips. When all the courses had 
been gone through with, the old 
waiter placing and removing them 
with equal solemnity, he arose, 
perceiving my hesitation and came 
near me. 

" W ill you go out on the porch ? ' ' 
he said offering me his arm. " The 
resourcesof your house, you know, 
are at your own command, for 
whatever you want or desire to 

Oh ! that miserable timidity ! I 
was so nervously in awe of him 
that I could scarcely speak. I 
could not act with the dignified 
courtesy that he did and his cold- 
ness sealed my lips from all ex- 
pression of my feelings. So I took 
his arm and suflered him to lead 
me out on the porch, the sun just 
disappearing behind the forest 


Mary Asliburton. 

trees as I took the seat he handed 

He remained with me, but look- 
ing so gloomy with his brow still 
contracted, his lips compressed as 
ever and his arms folded as if to 
still some tempest that was raging 
in his breast. 

"I wished it was in my power 
to show you greater kindness," he 
said at last without relaxing his 
brows, "but my gloom and my 
desolation are all I have left in 
this world." 

Surely I could say something 
now, when he looked upon it all 
as mine, relieved by my money, 
could tell him that it was his 
thrice over and would still be were 
I a beggar for his sake, but 
no . 

Glancing towards the lawn, I 
saw my parents approaching the 
house. A look of intense disgust 
and aversion came over Alfred's 
face. "Coming to take possession 
in right of the newly married 
daughter and act the parents-in- 
law already," it seemed to say. 

But he descended the steps and 
met them with cold, grave 
courtesy; that of a gentleman, 
nothing more. 

I think mother was chilled at 
the outset; she certainly did not 
make herself at home, and ap- 
peared somewhat fidgety. I met 
them affectionately, but my own 
manner was restrained in Alfred's 
presence, so that none of the par- 
ty were at ease except father, 
whose own free manner was partly 
put on, I believed. 

"Tine grazing ground, Mr. 
Chauncey. Going to turn your 
cattle in there?" he asked, refer- 
ring to a field he had just passed by. 

"I do not know, sir," replied 
Alfred, haughtily, "it has not been 
a subject of consideration with 
me at all." 

" Then I'd advise you to be 
seeing about it. It's time if you're 
going to do any thing with your 
place this year." 

I could see that Alfred writhed 
in an agony of impatience at this 
infliction, and to spare him, 
I engaged them both in home 
matters which successfully di- 
verted father from his attack. He 
darted at me the first grateful 
glance I had received from him, 
and, unable to endure his torture 
longer, he disappeared before they 
had missed his presence. I long- 
ed to follow, to go to him and 
try to comfort him in my feeble 
way! I felt almost that I had the 
power just then, my love and 
sympathy were so intense. I 
hated too to be alone with my 
parents who I knew would ques- 
tion me on the most delicate 

" "Why, Mary, that husband of 
yours is'nt much like a groom," 
commenced my father, leaning 

" You must be lonesome here," 
observed mother, significantly, 
looking through the door into the 

" I'm afraid he's not a going to 
do much with my money," pursued 
father, "I could'nt get a word of 
sense out of him. "What does he 
intend to do?" 

" He need'nt make himself such 
a fool over that girl," responded 
mother, " she was a heartless jilt 
and I know my Mary will come 
up to her in many things, and two 


Mary Ashburton. 


or three times her worth besides." 
She shook her head decidedly. 

"Oh! never mind him now, 
mother," I besought her tearfully, 
"he loved her so, and suifered so 

"Plague on it all!" exclaimed 
father, shaking the ashes from 
the pipe he had been indulging in 
since Alfred's departure, "but if 
ever a woman had treated me so 
when I was a sharp young blade, 
I'd a seen her to Jericho before 
I'd a wasted all my days crying 
over her. There's an old saying 
about crying over spilt-milk, 
which it seems your young man 
has'nt learnt yet, Mary." 

To hear him spoken of in this 
fashion! My blood tingled with 
mortified indignation. What had 
I, or my family, to expect of one 
who had honestly told me the 
consequences of accepting him! 
Then the indelicacy of discussing 
his aflfairs as if I had been a 
chosen wife, and of assuming the 
air of a father-in-law over him 
who had not made the slightest 
acknowledgement of his right to 
that title. 

If he had overheard him — and 
I was miserably afraid that the 
open doors and windows of a 
warm Spring evening would con- 
vey the sound to his ears — I be- 
lieve he would have fled the 
premises forever, 

"Well, husband, it's getting 
late, and I must get home to see 
that the cows are milked," said 
mother, rising. "Mary, child, 
come home every day, it is'nt 
likely but what you'll be lonesome 
here. Well, never mind," she 
added, seeing how I shrank back. 

maybe he'll come round in time, 
after while." 

I said nothing, but bade them 
both an affectionate farewell. — 
Then they left me, walking along 
in their quiet, sober way, and, no 
doubt, talking about Mary's pre- 
sent forlorn prospects. 

I saw no more of Alfred that 
evening. He had fled, locked and 
double locked himself up in hi& 
own apartment. The evening air 
was chilly, so I went in the house 
after my parents left, and staid in 
the dark, lonely parlor, till night 
came with its gloomy shadows 
that fell on the walls and the 
sombre furniture till it looked like 
the ghosts of those who had once 
been there. 

The portrait of Alfred's mother 
stared out from the darkness, the 
moonlight as it fell upon her 
proud, handsome features, seem- 
ing to give them life till I almost 
fancied she looked at me, the 
plebeian usurper of her rights,, 
frowningly. If she had lived, 
this would never have been, I 
could not help thinking. She 
would have said, " come poverty, 
come privations, but no alliance 
of our proud blood with that of 
common clod-hoppers, my head 
shall be loftier than ever, for my 
pride is the last thing left me." 
Alfred was a blended likeness of 
both parents, deriving his dark 
eyes and short upper-lip from his 
mother, his light hair, and com- 
plexion, from his father. 

A chill crept over me as I 
gazed at her face, I fancied sh& 
would speak to me, her eyes ap- 
peared to follow me so, and the 
long black shadows around the 
wall seemed to creep nearer. I 


Mary Ashhurton. 


longed for some living creature to 
be near. Even Leo had trotted 
off after mother and father. I 
was so entirely alone. Not a 
sound disturbed the silence, save 
the distant echo from the kitchen, 
or the cry of some fowl as it went 
to roost. 

As quickly as my trembling 
limbs would take me I ran from 
the parlor, closed the door on its 
ghostly occupants, on the dark- 
ness and gathering gloom, and 
sought for relief in the fresh air. 
They had closed and barred- the 
front door, so I did not disturb it. 
The moonlight was streaming in 
at one of the great windows. I 
stood there gazing out till I heard 
footsteps approaching. It was 
Melissa with a light in her hand. 

" Here's your lamp, missy," she 
said, "I've just been filling it with 
oH or I'd a brought it to you before. 
What time do you want breakfast, 
to-morrow" V" 

"What time does Mr. Chauncey 
usually have his ?" 

" Laws a massy I miss, he do'nt 
keer,if it's Mars Alfred you mean. 
He comes any time or no time." 

" Let it be at nine then to- 

I took the light from her and 
went to my room. For a long 
time I sat at one of the windows, 
watching the play of the moon- 
beams on the scene, and thinking 
of my life— what it was to be. 
I could not see at present, what 
my duties were, what I must do, 
or could do. To be sure that was 
but the close of the first day, a 
most dreary one, but were all to 
be like that— nothing to do, weari- 
ness and vacuity ? Time would 
develope and I must patiently 

VOL. V. NO. I. 

wait. In the meantime I was at 
hand for whatever should be 
needed, there to tend and soothe 
if I could, or work for him in other 
ways should his present condition 
require it. With that consolation 
I retired to rest. 

But I did not rest. All was 
quiet— so quiet till, wearily tossing 
upon an uneasy couch, I heard a 

Was it the wind ? It grew 
louder. Ko, it was a human voice, 
as in agony ; deep, terrible 
sobs and long drawn sighs as if a 
heart would break at each. 

This was maddening ; I could 
endure it no longer. Wringing 
my hands in passionate sorrow, I 
sprang from my bed and opened 
the door. His room was several 
doors from mine. I could hear 
him pacing the floor with rapid 
steps. Throwing myself on his 
sill, I sat there wringing my hands 
and weeping bitterly as I listened 
to agony, for how could I rest 
upon my couch while he, whom I 
loved better than all the world, 
was enduring such suffering? 
How he must have loved her ! and 
I did not wonder, for her every 
look or movement was fascination. 
Such a passion as she could in- 
spire must be intense. Then to 
be discarded so, after her profes- 
sions of attachment, to be deceived 
where he had placed every hope 
in life, received by an attachment 
that was more than hopeless ; 
everything about him connected 
with her image, it must have torn 
up his heart's roots to sever them 
from her. To be without her he 
had to live life over again ; to 
crush her intoxicating loveliness 
from his soul, to begin a new ex- 



Mary Ashburton. 


istence divested of all thought of 
her. How miserably impossible 
that was, I knew — alas ! — by bitter 
experience. I felt too that on 
that particular night his misery 
was intensely aggravated by the 
day's occurrences ; how scornfully 
he was picturing to himself the 
plebeian, senseless bride, that his 
father had brought him, her vul- 
gar old parents who could come 
so conveniently and intrude upon 
his grief, almost taking possession 
in right of the wrong they had 
spent upon the home of his ances- 
tors ; so different from the beauti- 
ful, high born bride, the elegant, 
cultivated circle of friends and 
connections that he would have 
lived in with her, she dispensing 
the honors of his house as an ac- 
complished lady, what I never 
can be, I thought, weeping sorrow- 
fully, I am so shy and so very, 
very timid. 

So I set there and listened to the 
heavy step pacing backwards and 
forwards, starting with terror as 
he approached the door, fearful 
that he would open it suddenly 
and discover me there ; longing to 
go to him and whisper consolation, 
yet doing all I could — weeping 
with him. 

At last he threw himself ex- 
hausted on a couch ; nature had 
resumed her sway and I could 
perceive by his deep breathing 
that he slept the sleep of weari- 
ness. Then I crept back to my 
room and slept till daylight. 
When I awoke the next morning 
it was with a disposition to look 
from my little window at home to 
see the sun's rays mantling the 
east with the warm blushes of sun- 
rise, but the light coming in 
broadly from a different direction. 
I turned my startled eyes and saw 
it stealing through the embroid- 
ered curtains of four lofty windows. 
I lay for some time looking around 
me, wondering to find myself there 
and unable to realize that it was 
all true, that this was Alfred's 
home, and mine also now — our 
home, but no blissful dual unity 
as of a married pair. Alas ! no 
"we" and "our" existed for us ; 
so near and yet so far apart were 
we. I arose, threw on a white 
morning wrapper and went down 
stairs. A desire to do something 
for him overcame my timidity 
and I resolved to venture upon my 
prerogative as mistress at once. 

(to be continued.) 

1868.] " Tell The Boys Tm Coming Soon.''> 51 

"tell the boys I'm C03iing soon." 


I was just well enough to leave the hospital to repair to my com- 
mand. In passing out I stopped to hid a sick comrade adieu. I found 
the poor fellow was dying. He took my hand in his, and, with a last 
effort, whispered: "Tell the hoys I'm coming soon!" — Letter froyn 
Atlanta, 1864. 

Where a hundred sick and dying 
Groaned in agony and pain, 
^ "While the whizzing shells were flying 

Fast as comes the pelting rain, 
\ "Was a soldier quickly straying 

Into death's remorseless swoon, 
Still he woke up firmly saying — 
"Tell the hoys I'm coming sooni" 

" Did you hear it not? the rattle 

Of the canister — the crash! 
Hear the furious peals of battle. 

See the cannon's lightning flash! 
God of Heaven! my bosom's swelling. 

Beating to the bullets' tune! 
Listen to their distant yelling — 

' Tell the boys I'm coming soon!' 

" Have they fought another battle? 

I must be with them — I must! 
God! there's music in its rattle 

As the foemen bite the dust! 
Tell the boys to strike for freedom! 

'Tis of Heaven the priceless boon, 
Tell all freemen that we need 'em — 

' Tell the boys I'm coming soon!' " 


52 Model Housekeeping. [May 

Fast the soldier now was sinking, 

Like the setting of the day, 
Still his mind was dreaming, thinking. 

Of the boys who wore the grey; 
And with one strong effort sighing. 

Ere he fell in Death's last swoon, 
Still he said as he was dying — 

" Tell the boys I'm coming soon!" 

Coming quickly, coming blandly. 

Rising up beyond the skies, 
Marching onward, marching grandly. 

To the gates of Paradise! 
Tell the dead who've gone before him 

He has won the holy boon, 
Tell the saints who still watched o'er him — 

Tell all Heaven he's cominw soon! 



"Halloo ! Kelly, come down, me through that infernal din in 
quick, sweetheart, I want you in the nursery. Nelly, where are 
the parlor"— and Frank Random, you, child?" 

standing at the foot of the stairs, And he slammed open their 
turned up his handsome, flushed chamber door, but she was not 
face, as if expecting to see "Nel- there. Slightly ruffled at this un- 
ly" running down at once, obe- expected chance of missing her 
dient to his commands, — but he when he was in haste, for his 
looked in vain for she did not friends must leave in half an hour 
come. Now Frank was not the on the noon train — and Frank be- 
most patient individual alive, so ing very proud of his handsome 
he did not wait long, but taking young wife, wanted this old col- 
four steps at a stride, was soon at lege chum to have a glance at 
the door of his wife's room, mut- her en passanf— he broke through 
tering, as he dashed on this head- the nursery where Betty was 
long course up stairs. shrieking " John Brown's body" 

" No wonder she cannot hear to the baby. 


Model Houselceejping. 

"Confound it all!" he shouted 
'■'■canH you stop that yelling for a 
moment and tell me where your 
Miss Kelly is?" 

Poor Betty stopped with her 
mouth half open, and stared at 
him aghast — for, being generally 
good natured, she wondered what 
had happened to put " Massa 
Frank" in such a fret — and then 
stammered out — 

"Ib'leves Miss Kelly's in de 
kitchen, sir. I's ben a singin de 
baby to sleep, and never heered 
you callin." 

"Singing! the devil you were. 
"Why don't you know such an in- 
fernal noise as that is enough to 
keeji forty babies awake, let alone 
one? Halloo! Posey! glad to see 
papa, aren't you?" and he tossed 
the plump rosy thing until she 
laughed and crowed with delight! 
" Come little one, let's go to the 
parlor. Where's master Eddie?" 

" In de kitchen long a his ma, 
I spec — he follered her down dar." 

" And what in the thunder is 
your mistress doing in the kitch- 

"Don't know, Massa Prank," 
and Betty grinned. " She's took 
a monstrous likin to de kitchen 
lately, peers like she's heap fonder 
of it denshe was— shill I go and 
tell her you wants her?" 

" Ko, I'll go for her myself. — 
Come, let's hunt up mama, Po- 
sey," and off went Prank, with 
his baby, down stairs, through 
the diningroom and pantry to a 
little back passage adjoining the 
kitchen, where a most unexpected, 
and, to his refined taste, not very 
pleasant tableau was presented 
to his astonished gaze ; for, being 
summer, the kitchen door stood 

open ; and there was his beautiful 
Kelly, with sleeves rolled up, 
scouring away at something, he 
could not tell whether it was tin, 
pewter, or silver, and he did not 
care, for the mere fact of his wife, 
a lady born and bred, doing me- 
nial work, set Prank Kandom's 
aristocratic blood in a fever of in- 
dignation, and he called out in a 
tone of voice less gentler than she 
had ever heard from him before — 

"Kelly, my child, what are you 
about? Come quickly to the par- 
lor, an old friend of mine is wait- 
ing there to see you, and must be 
oft" in a few moments." 

" Mercy, Prank, don't look so 
cross, I am only helping Aunt 
Cloe to clean up a little; stop 
Eddie, you'll tear mama's apron, 
just let me go and smooth my 
hair, and I'll be all right for the 
parlor." And Kelly pulling down 
her sleeves, and wiping the mois- 
ture from her flushed face with a 
delicate cambric handkerchief, 
smiled at her husband as she 
passed him to go up stairs. 

"All right indeed! no you 
won't, he replied, clucking her 
under the chin. Your face is as 
red as blazes, go on though— it 
can't be helped now, we will dis- 
cuss this kitchen freak of yours 
anon young lady. 

" Aunt Cloe" as soon as Kell 
was out of hearing — "what brings 
her here?" 

" De Lord knows, I spec 
sum of dem tarin down old house- 
keepers bin got after her, Mas 
Prank, I wish, de debble had um, 
and I's mighty glad you disproves 
of it sir, for she bothers me 
mightily, dese here raal quality 
ladies (like Miss Kelly,) don't 


Model Housekeeping. 


tnow nothin on de Lord's earth 
about work, dey always hinders 
us niggers when dey pertends to 
help! yahl yah! yah! it makes 
me laugh to see sich a putty 
creetur as dat fussin round 
and tryin to do what dem old 
hard reasoned house-keepers tells 
her she ought to do — last-ways, I 
spec dey dun it, can't say for 
sartin, she's jist took to it dis las 

"Very likely, said Frank" as 
he nodded to Aunt Cloe, and 
walked off — "but I'll put a stop to 

Nelly smoothed her hair," and 
was a little provoked that the 
flush did not disappear the mo- 
ment she looked in the glass, but 
after giving her cheeks and fore- 
head two or three gentle taps 
with the powder puff, and laugh- 
ing her light careless laugh, at 
the memory of Frank's troubled 
look, when he caught her in the 
kitchen — away she ran to the 

"Well, what do you think 
of my Nelly, Bob?" said Frank 
Random, as they turned off from 
his pretty cottage home. 

"Very handsome! by George, 
she is a stunner I but I was some- 
what astonished to find her so 
florid; you told me she was pale!" 

"And so she '/s— curse such 
luck — as white as a lily, scarcely 
ever has a tinge of color, or if any, 
just enough to be perfect, but 
when we eame in, where do you 
suppose I found her? 

"Don't know, working with 
the baby, I suppose, that is gen- 
erally the occupation of feminines 
when there's a baby on hand." 

" No indeed— worse than that — 

she was actually in the kitchen, 
my dear fellow, scrubbing and 
tearing away at some infernal old 
tin pot or another. I'm afraid 
one or more of these fussy old 
house- keepers have been tamper- 
ing with her innocent ignorance of 
such matters, and inoculating her 
brain with the neatness mania — 
confound such meddlesome old 
frumps say I, they are a nuisance 
in any community, cramming 
every young house-keeper they 
meet with their absurd notions of 
rubbing and scrubbing and sweep- 
ing and scouring, from Monday 
morning to Saturday night. I 
swear,it makes me perfectly savage 
to think of my elegant, refined, 
beautiful Nelly, having all her ele- 
gance, refinement, and beauty, 
coarsened by the horrible house- 
keeping disease, well nigh as fatal 
to good looks as the small-pox, and 
which too often transforms our 
young American ladies into 
coarse, middle-aged women, with 
rough red hands, no longer fit for 
the piano, or harp, or to dress 
and adorn their children for that 
matter. A lady should confine 
her usefulness to lady-like duties 
and employments, not coarsen 
herself by menial labor, unless 
poverty compels it, and then, of 
course, one must submit to the 
annoyance of seeing a diamond, 
or pearl, or ruby (as the case may 
be) sullied with smut and dust, 
consoled by the hope that if it be 
a real gem, and no sham, the 
dirt will not stick to its perfect 

"Halloo! Frank," said his 
friend, laughing, "you are turn- 
ing lecturer — don't fret about your 
Nelly, she is a real jewel, and won't 


Model Housekeeping. 


collect much dust: refined natures 
are not easily coarsened, and by 
analyzing the composition of 
those fussy, fretting, hard-work- 
ing housewives (or young ones 
either for that matter) you would 
be very apt to discover a strong 
run of vulgarity near the surface, 
the vulgarity of birth which nei- 
ther association or education can 
ever entirely refine. Your Nelly 
is more the real lady in the 
kitchen, scrubbing tin pots and 
pans, with sleeves rolled up 
and apron on, aye, even with 
a flushed face and soiled hands, 
than the tiresome old body who 
incited her to such absurd pro- 
ceedings — robed in royal velvet 
and lounging in a splendid draw- 
ingroom. Yet I agree with you 
that it's very provoking to see a 
young beauty spoiling her hands 
and complexion by doing kitchen 
work, when there is no necessity 
for it, and I would put a summa- 

ry stop to such proceedings !" 
"By George!" exclaimed Frank, 
" I think this infernal hot weath- 
er ought to put a summary stop 
to Nell's foolish kitchen craze, 
but now that I've caught her at 
it, old Mrs. Fiddle-faddle, or the 
Lord knows who, may whistle up 
her new pupil in vain ; when 
Eandom meets Particular, ' then 
comes the tug of war.' I don't 
mean to have my authority set at 
naught by a nest of fussy old gos- 
sips, and will route old Fuzzle- 
guzzle or die for it — whip her in a 
fair fight if necessary, and you 
shall hear the results. Au revoir.^^ 
And Bob Moore was whist- 
led ofi" on the express train 
while Frank sauntered home 
vowing vengeance against med- 
dlers as a class, and one in par- 
ticular, he did not exactly know 
who, but intended to find out; yes 
that he would! 


" Lord bless my soul, but ain't 
I glad massa Frank done been 
here and called Miss Nelly out of 
my kitchen?" exclaimed aunt 
Cloe, fanning her big, black, good- 
natured self with a tin plate, and 
haranguing the house servants as 
they ate their dinner on that 
memorable day. "Pears like she's 
took a mighty notion to help me 
dis las week. I wonder what's 
got into her? I'll bet a tater, a 
big sweet tater too, dat sum of 
dem hard taren down old house- 
keepers bin knowed her ebber 

since she's bin born, put my young 
mistiss up to spilin her putty 
little white hands. Lord knows 
d'arn is red and big enough! I'd 
stood it jist as long as I could, 
and had done made up my mind 
to tell her how dat de kitchen ain't 
no place for a lady-born. I was 
tryin to git up sparit enough to 
speak out to dis inference when de 
master come, and, Lord! how I 
did chuckle when he hollered at 
her like he was kinder mad, and 
yet she's so putty he couldn't 
scold her, and no wonder, for I'd 


Ilodel Housekeeping. 


been scourin and cleanin away and 
roUin my eyes round ebery now 
and den to see what she was about, 
and termined to burst out and 
say: 'Now Miss Nelly, what 
you think your blessed Ma would 
say, if she could put her head in 
dat dar door, like she used to 
peep in deold Grange kitchen, and 
see you wid your lily-white hands 
scourin away at dat dratted old 
cake mould? You ought to go out 
of here, in fact you ought. Miss 
Nelly, its no place for de likes of 
you,' and my heart kept kinder 
filin up inside of me like a tater in 
a pot, and I kep swellin and 
sweatin mightily, but I couldn't 
speak as I oughter; and when 
Massa Frank come along and 
blow'd her up, I could a hugged 
him, fore de Lord! I could, and I 
b'leves he's put a vetum, as my 
ole master use to say, on her coni- 
in here to bother me agin. Je- 
hol-ikins ! but ain't it hot? — 
Come, hurry up your dinner; — 
you niggers takes heap longer to 
eat dan you did fore freedum 
broke out!" and aunt Cloe went 
about her afternoon work with a 
vim that hurried up her audience 
to a speedy prosecution and com- 
pletion of their dinner operations; 
for aunt Cloe was queen of the 
kitchen, and not to be trifled with 
or interfered with — no, not even 
by " Miss Nelly," and aunt Cloe 
was right! 

"Now, come, my darling, and 
tell me candidly what ever put it 
into your pretty little head to 
turn kitchen maid? Your moth- 
er never did such work, so far as 
I know, and certainly mine never 
does. Who has been tampering 
with your lady-like notions of 

housekeeping, causing you to 
place kitchen work high up — nay, 
perhaps to head with it your list 
of daily duties?" And Frank Ean- 
dom drew Nelly down besides him 
on a tete-a-tete sofa, near the li- 
brary window, after tea, when the 
children were asleep, and there 
appeared a ftiir chance for unin- 
terrupted chat. 

Nelly laughed at his business- 
like manner, and replied jesting- 

"You talk as if I had been guilty 
of some grave offense, Mr. In- 
quisitor, its precious little of any- 
thing in the shape of work I've 
ever done, not half as much as I 
ought, it seems — for Mrs. Noah 
Scrubbinwell" — 

"There!" exclaimed Frank, 
springing up and standing before 
her as if to do battle then and 
there, " 1 knew it— I forgot her 
name, and called her old Fuzzle- 
guzzle to-day, but knew it to be 
her doings all the same, meddle- 
some, tiresome, fussy old gossip! 
She's been here, has she, teach- 
ing you your duty? just let her 
try it again, and if I don't raise 
the devil's delight for her benefit, 
my name's not Frank Random!" 

"Do stop," said Nelly, when 
she could speak through her 
laughter, "don't pitch into the 
poor old thing like that — she 
meant no harm; but always hav- 
ing heard of her as a model house- 
keeper, I thought best to profit by 
her advice, for she called here last 
week, and this is the way it all 
come about. I was saying how 
much more forgetful and negli- 
gent the negroes were, or the gen- 
erality of them, at least, than in 


Model Housekeeping. 


the days of slavery, when she re- 

"Well, maybe its so with them 
that don't see after their servants, 
but mine are always up to time; 
for I go along and work with them. 
You'll And, my dear, that even 
aunt Cloe— and she used to be a 
first-rate nigger in your mother's 
day — even she will be spoiled en- 
tirely if you don't see after her 
every da3% I consider it the duty 
of every housekeeper to go into 
her kitchen and even help the 
cook if necessary, after she is 
through helping in the dining- 
room. Our Jemima rubs the sil- 
ver an hour, at least, every day, 
for I'm bringing her up to be real 
•useful and none of your fine la- 
<|ies that's afraid of spoiling their 

And she glanced at mine, which 
you know, Frank, don't look 
much used up, and I had on cdl 
my rings, too!" 

"Confound her for an old drag- 
on," said Frank, "go on." 

"Mercy," I exclaimed "Mrs. 
■Scrubbinwell, I never help with 
any kind of work but only look 
after the servants to see that they 
do it properly. My mother never 
worked, and never taught me to, 
(except the pleasant work of mak- 
ing ices, jellies, etc..) and I don't 
know how.'''' 

" Oh, my dear, your good moth- 
er lived in the days of slavery, 
which abomination I'm happy to 
say has been done away with. 
Then there was not quite so 
much need of our helping by 
hand, as well as by word 
of mouth — besides, Nelly, dear, 
though your poor mother was 
one of the kindest and best of 

women, she never was considered 
a model housekeeper." 

" Damn her lying old tongue!" 
roared Frank, wrought up to a 
perfect pitch of fury by Nelly's 
story, " I'll teach her to come 
sticking her ugly red nose into my 
domestic arrangements; she's a 
perfect old nuisance, and I'll tell 
her so for a second provocation." 

"Gracious goodness, Frank! 
how you made me jump, shriek- 
ing out like that, and saying such 
dreadful words too— if you don't 
stop getting so mad at old Fuzzle- 
guzzle, as you are pleased to call 
her, I wont tell you another bit of 
our conversation ; whereas if you'll 
be reasonable and stop swearing, 
you shall hear it all, and its worth 

" I beg your pardon, Nell, for 
swearing, and did not mean to, 
but am so terribly hot-headed, and 
it did make me infernally mad to 
hear of that impudent old frump 
daring to underrate your lovely 
mother's housekeeping, when the 
Grange was always so proverbial 
for good, nay, luxurious living, 
and open-hearted hospitality — ^just 
to think of such a vulgar old thing 
as Scrubbinhard " 

"Oh, mercy, Frank, not hard, 
ivell, you are too funny." 

" Hard as well makes precious 
little difference, its all she's fit for, 
but go on, what else did she have 
to say?" 

"Oh, poor old thing, she prais- 
ed my dear mother very much, 
and only said she was not quite as 
particular as she might have been, 
or as housekeepers are expected 
to be now-a-days." 


Model Housekeeping. 


" I'll be bound," cut in Frank, 
"damning with faint praise. — 
There's a rhyme, Nell, go on." 

"And then she said as I was 
young and inexperienced she 
would take great pleasure in tell- 
ing me just what my routine of 
daily duties should be." 

"' By the by, my dear,'" she 
continued, "were you ever in Mrs. 
McS weeper's kitchen?" I shook 
my head, saying I scarcely knew 
Mrs. McSweeper well enough to 
be initiated into the mysteries of 
her kitchen. " Then you have 
missed a great treat, for it is the 
very perfection of neatness; such 
pans and plates! just like silver, 
and you might eat off of her kitch- 
en tables, they are so clean.' " 

" Oh, mercy, thinks I to my- 
self, what would she say to eating 
off aunt Cloe's tables as a general 
thingV And, Frank, do you know, 
on hearing all this, I felt con- 
demned as a miserable, careless 
housekeeper, and determined to 
reform, turn over a new leaf, be- 
come bustling, energetic — yet as 
these thoughts flashed through 
my mind I was too proud to own 
up to my domestic delinquencies 
and replied : 

" ' But, Mrs. Scrubbinwell, I 
don't see the need of having ta- 
bles always in a condition that 
one might eat off of them without 
plates, and if used constantly, as 
kitchen table* must be, how is it 
possible ?' " 

" I wish you could have 
seen her horrified look, and how 
she bristled up like a porcupine 
about to do battle, while answer- 

" ' My dear, ' cleanliness is next 
to Godliness,' and a lady's kitch- 
en should be as clean as her par- 
lor. The fact is, even Mrs. Mc- 
Sweeper's back yard is always so 
exquisitely neat that I would not 
mind eating off of her pavement.' " 

" ' Oh, mercy, you don't say so 
— that is wonderful!' I exclaimed, 
looking, doubtless, very incredu- 
lous, for a vision of our pave- 
ment with Sancho, Tass, and lit- 
tle Lee, the puppy, eating their 
daily mess there, or with the old 
bones, ru§ty tin pans, and black 
Bob's worn-out shoes, and other 
unsightly things flying round 
flashed before me, and then — Oh! 
horrors, Frank! — would you be- 
lieve it — I got into one of my ab- 
surd ways, and burst out laugh- 
ing; for close on the heels of this 
dog tableau rose another, of old 
Scrub, on all fours, taking her 
dinner with the canines; well, 
this was rather natural, for she 
had suggested the idea of dining 
on Mrs. McSweeper's bricks, why 
not on ours f and I wondered if it- 
would taste less savory than from 
that model housekeeper's model 
back pavement!" 

"What amuses you, Nelly?" 
she asked in a very dignified man- 
ner, bristling up again. 

"Nothing I said, in a state of 
visible alarm. I was only think- 
ing how unpleasant it would be 
to take my lunch or dinner ofi" the 
bare bricks in our yard, for with 
dogs about, and Frank is so fond 
of hunting he keeps two setters, 
and a young one coming on, to 
say nothing of children, white 
and black. I scarcely think it 
possible t6 keep the back premises- 


Model Housekeeping. 


in such a 'perfect state of neatness, 
do you?" 

"Well, my dear," she answer- 
ed, slightly mollified. "I can't 
agree with you there, for energy 
can accomplish almost anything, 
and I think the fault of your 
house-keepers, generally, is a lack 
of energy, they lie in bed too late, 
you should rise at the crack of 
day, to bring all things in proper 
order and perfectly neat, not 
meaning to be personal, of 
course, child, and her keen, 
searching, prying eyes, glanced 
in a most expressive way 
round the dining-room, where we 
happened to be, and where one of 
the curtains was tied up in a knot, 
for you know, Frank, you will 
fix it so, when you are mad at the 
room for being dark, or at me for 
being given to curtains, I don't 
know which, and Eddie's gun, 
and one of the baby's old shoes 
were tossed on the table, to say 
nothing of my gloves and veil on 
the side-board, and little Posey's 
finger marks all over both the 
window sashes, especially that one 
under the knotted curtain, and 
down by the hearth was one of 
your slippers which the puppy 
had dragged in, and I intended to 
take back to its place, but forgot 
all about it." 

" I'll warrant you," said Frank, 
tapping Nelly's fair cheek, "my 
careless pet is not famous for 
remembering such little matters, 
and I'd rather have her so, than 
a second edition revised and im- 
proved of old Scrub, or that model 
house-keeper, Mrs. Ephriam Mc- 
S weeper !" 

" Well !" continued N'elly, "she 
searched the room with her eyes, 

while saying she meant no per- 
sonality, which caused me to re- 
mark apologetically, 'don't scru- 
tinize this room, please, for peo- 
ple, wilh babies, cannot emulate 
either yourself, or Mrs. McSweep- 
er, who have no encumbrances of 
the kind, for yours are grown up 
and out of the way, and she never 
had any.' " 

"Ah ! that is a great mistake 
dear, for in my youth, with three 
or four little children, I was a 
famous house-keeper, and kept 
my children beautifully clean too, 
and Mrs. McS weepers would be a 
model if she had a dozen; and 
look at Amanda Overnice, Kelly,' 
there is an example for you, six 
young ones, a baby always on 
hand, keeps only one servant be- 
sides her cook, and those children 
always look as if they had just 
come out of a band- box, she is a 
model mother as well as a house- 

"Mercy, I ejaculated mentally, 
as the thought of Eddie, dirty as 
a pig, up stairs, presented itself. 
I hope he's asleep, or, at least, 
that he will stay up stairs, but he 
was'nt asleep, and he did not stay 
up stairs, for just as the words, 
"model mother," came out, pre- 
cise and hard, to the ear, as 
words cut out on a slab of granite 
would look, in rushed the little 
scamp, more outrageously dirty 
than usual, smeared from ear to 
ear with molosses candy, and 
black as the back of the chimney ! 
I wish I could have seen the old 
lady rear up for an instant, and 
then shrink as far as possible, 
within her capacious silk wrap- 
pings like a great fat snail trying 
to disappear within its shell, as 


Model Housekeeping. 


after flinging himself on my lap 
a moment, and peeping up at the 
stately dame, as a mouse might 
be supposed to survey the high- 
est of Egyptian pyramids, the 
little fellow made a dead point 
at her Niagara fan which has a 
bird in the center, and was just 
about seizing it, when, in a fit of 
despair, sajing, ' come go to 
Betty and get your face washed.' 
I laid hold of the young invader, 
and hurried him from the room, 
without one word of apology or 
explanation, with regard to his 
appearance, half inclined to give 
master Eddie a small dose of ray 
old slipper, and wishing Mrs. 
Scrub in Joppa! "When I return- 
ed, she looked severe and dignified, 
but went on, without any allusion 
to Eddie's appearance. ' The 
secret lies in energy; you must rise 
early; Jam up at the first crack 
of day, and always have been.' " 
"Yes, thinks I to myself, you 
look hard and old and puffed up 
and keen, as if you had been on 
the look out for dust and cobwebs 
and all sorts of dirt ever since you 
were married! A chief of-police 
infesting the high-ways and by- 
ways of domestic life, to observe, 
detect, and bring to light the 
short-comings of lazy, young 
house-keepers, and I suppose, 
Kelly Eandom; you must be 
dreadfully lazy and trilling and 
good-for-nothing, in comparison 
with such veterans as Scrub, 
Overnice & Co. And, then and 
there, Frank, beneatti the search- 
ing eyes of that domestic inquisi- 
tor, that chief of house inspectors, 
and under the spell of her alarm- 
ing eloquence, I determined to 
reform, that is, as ftxr as possible, 

not that Aunt Cloe's tables can 
ever emulate Mr. McSweeper's, 
or our back-yard her back-yard, 
not that I can ever be up at the 
' crack of day,' except to tend the 
children, for after fussing with 
baby half the night that is scarce- 
ly possible; but then I might do 
better, and I will, if its in me, 
which is extremely doubtful; but 
ray intentions are good, you see, 
for ever since your poor Kelly has 
been doing penance, by helping in 
the dining-room and kitchen both, 
till you caught me at it this 
morning; and I really believe 
Aunt Cloe was glad to see me de- 
feated, driven off from her pre- 
mises, for though silent, her dis- 
comfiture at ray presence has been 
evident and visible in the roll of 
her eyes, and groans of disappro- 
bation as I went about rubbing 
here and polishing there! But, 
Erank, when ' raodel house-keep- 
ers ' pitch into you like that, 
what is a poor lazy one to do?" 

"Do? why do nothing — at least 
in their line — for stupid old cases 
who choose to offer up their lives 
a sacrifice on the altar of 'mod- 
el housekeeping' don't deserve 
either to be admired or emulated — 
the kitchen should be their sphere 
of action, for it suits both their 
tastes and capacities. Look into 
their parlors, and what do you 
see? Tables, chairs, everything 
bolt up-right, looking as if they 
had been there from the begin- 
ning and would be till the end, 
adorning a small temple of unin- 
habited splendor, — where photo- 
graph albums and other unread- 
able books look at you from the 
centre-table as if stuck there with 
Spalding's glue! Just fancy one's 


Model Housekeeping. 


pitching at such a thing as that 
and tumbling the books, etc., 
down on the floor, or piling them 
on the windows, and then trans- 
forming said formidable looking 
centre-piece into a card- table! as 
we do oftentimes in our parlor. 
Oh! Jupiter Amon ! I would as 
soon dare displace the gifts on 
some toly shrine, or worse still, 
throw a snow-ball at the bows 
on Mrs. Scrubbinwell's cap! — 
Kow, Kell, I am going to de- 
feat old Scrub, route the en- 
emy, and put an etfectual stop 
to this meddling. My wish is, 
that you shall always do your du- 
ty, viz: keep house as nicely, and 
easily, and comfortably as you 
•now do, and to my perfect satis- 
faction, I don't want to eat off of 
kitchen tables, or back pavements 
a la Overnice or Scrub or Mc- 
Sweeper, as long, at least, as we 
have dining tables and plates. Be 
the unselfish and devoted mother 
you always are, and if the chil- 
dren do look a little piggish at 
times, I shall not have the neat- 
shivers, and am sure you wont 
either, but one thing I forbid, 
Nelly,, and that is your entering 
the kitchen for two weeks upon 
any pretense whatever." 

"Two weeks?" cried Nell, 
"why that's longer than I ever 
missed going in yet. What's your 
fancy now, Frank?" 

" Ko matter; ray reasons are 
good; you may look in, hut don't 
cross the threshold for a fortnight, 
as at the end of that time I want 
you to invite Scrub and Overnice 
to dinner." 

" Oh, mercy, Frank— to dinner? 
We invite two model housekeep- 
ers to dinner f I should absolute- 

ly die of alarm even at the pros- 
pect of such an ordeal." 

" No you wont, Nell; my mind 
is made up, so don't protest. I 
will furnish the supplies for a first- 
rate dinner, which aunt Cloe 
shall prepare without your assist- 
ance; the defect you can fuss 
about to your heart's content in 
the dining-room, that is pies and 
cakes, the pastry shall come forth 
puffy and perfect as usual from 
aunt Cloe's ebony fingers. It 
shall be a dinner calculated to 
transfix these two model house- 
keepers with wonder — especially 
when informed that you have not 
been inside the kitchen for two 
weeks, which startling piece of in- 
telligence I shall present in due 
form for their august considera- 

"No, Frank, you could not be 
so cruel as to tell such a scandal- 
ous thing on your poor Nell? 
Why it would ruin me with all 
the nice housekeepers in town!" 

" I don't care a !" 

"Gracious, Frank! don't swear 
again; you are too bad." 

" Swear I'm not swearing; why 
don't you let me go on? I only 
meant to say I don't care a cent 
for all the nice housekeepers boil- 
ed up in a mess as unsavory as 
that concocted by the witches in 
Macbeth! My mind is made up 
about the dinner, and I want two 
or three of our set invited to en- 
joy the fun. Don't fret yourself. 
Everything will go off splendidly ^ 
and then to see two model house- 
keepers routed, beaten, by George I 
what grand sport it will be." 

And Frank went ofi" to smoke 
his pipe, leaving poor Nelly half 
amused at his freak, and half tor- 


Model Housekeepincj. 


mented at the terrible ordeal her style, that is, without pre- 
awaiting her. There was some tending to be models, and who, 
comfort in the reflection that she like herself, cared not one rush 
could consult Mag. Parker and about the condition of their neigh- 
Nannie Danvers, who were her bors kitchens, or back yards! 
dearest friends, and kept house in 


" What do you suppose ever 
possessed Nelly Eandom to invite 
i(s to dine there?" said Mrs. Scrub- 
binwell to her neighbor, Mrs. 
Overnice, as they sat over their 
tea, the evening before Nelly's 
long anticipated agony was to 
be accomplished. 

"Can't imagine, I'm sure; do 
you know it strikes me as almost 
impertinent for a lazy, careless 
thing, like Nelly Eandom to in- 
vite two such good managers as 
you and myself to a dinner-party. 
Jam Just going out of curiosity, 
for I know there won't be one 
thing fit to eat; she leaves every- 
thing to that saucy old nigger, 
Cloe,who, in my opinion is no 
part of a cook, and such a kitchen 
as she keeps! they say it's a per- 
fect disgrace, but no wonder, 
what can you expect from /as/iton- 
ahle people who lie in bed till 9 
o'clock? In the winter they 
never breakfast till after nine; for 
a nigger that lived there last year 
told me so, and then such pigs of 
children! Why, Tilly McSweeper 
told me that their faces were 
never washed more than twice a 
day, and sometimes only once, 
just think of it!" 

" I believe that," chimed in her 
companion, "for the other day 

when I was calling there, Eddie 
came tearing into the room, look- 
ing like a chimney-sweep, si(^with 
molasses candy, and a streaming 
nose! After pitching head-fore- 
most into his mothers laps, and 
peeping up at me, every now and 
then, as if I were a dragon, the 
young monkey made a dead set 
on my beautiful new Niagara 
fan, and was about to seize it 
with his filthy paws, when Nelly 
had sense enough, for a wonder, 
to take him out of the room. Oh! 
but did'nt I give her a piece of 
my mind that day, about laziness, 
etc., i)erhaps its been of service, 
and out of gratitude she's going 
to give us the benefit of her im- 
provement in the house-keeping 

"Well, maybe so, but I doubt 
it," said Mrs. Overnice, "depend 
on it, she's too elegant, too fash- 
ionable, and worse than all, thinks 
herself too handsome ever to be 
a good house-keeper, or useful in 
any way ! Her mother, my dear, 
was literary, and I never knew a 
literary woman who was fit for 
anything, let alone keeping house 
and bringing up young ones 1 but 
we'll see to-morrow, I expect to 
come home half starved!" 

After the first panic of alarm 


Model Housekeeping. 


passed off, Nelly rather enjoyed 
the idea of having two such vet- 
eran old house-keepers to dinner, 
especially, with an equal balance 
of her own clique, to participate 
in the fun of seeing them routed 
by Frank. 

The silver, china and glass 
shone, the damask was spotless, 
and everything in keeping. No 
baby shoes, old veils, gloves, or 
slippers, tossing about; Frank 
being particularly amiable, we 
had coaxed him to let the window 
curtains alone, after she had ar- 
ranged them, and little Posey's 
finger-marks were all wash- 
ed off the window glass! Mrs. 
Scrubbinwell gave Mrs. Overnice 
a look of exultation when they 
entered the dining room, as much 
a^ to say, " See the wonders ef- 
fected by my lecture!" 

"What delicious gumbo, Nel- 
ly," said Mag. Parker, " 1 would 
like the recipe." 

" I dare say aunt Cloe will be 
proud to give it to you," she an- 
swered, telegraphing Frank with 
her eyes, "it is mamma's old 
recipe— the Grange gumbo was 
famous, you know." 

" I thought you had succeeded 
in obtaining Mrs. McSri'-eeper's 
recipe — she makes the test I ever 
tasted," snapped in Mrs Overnice, 
tucking in her gumbo with her 
spoon held very far down, and her 
soup-plate tilted the wrong way." 

"I never tasted hei's," said 
Nannie Danvers, " but this is by 
far the most delicious gumbo I 
ever did taste. Mag, we must 
flatter up aunt Cloe and try to 
get the exact proportions. " 

" Mrs. McSweeper knows the 
exact proportions of everything on 

her table. I never asked how to 
make anything that she could not 
tell within a thimble full the pre- 
cise quantities. That's what I 
call good housekeeping — don't you, 
Louisa?" turning to Mrs. Scrub. 

" Yes, of course I do; one can- 
not be too particular in such mat- 

"Dear me," said Nelly, "it 
would keep my poor head in an 
everlasting whirl — worse than un- 
happy Mrs. Eaggs, if I were to 
dot down in my brain so many 
proportions of butter, eggs, flour, 
etc., etc., pertaining to cakes and 
custards, but as to soups, meat- 
dishes, and all that sort of thing, 
my taste might help me, but my 
memory never!" 

"The pastry of this veal pate is 
perfect, Nelly, said Nannie Dan- 
vers, " I know you made it with 
your own fair hands," looking at 
her young hostess with a speaking 
twinkle of the eye, which was in- 
tended to say "now is your chance 
to stun the two model housekeep- 
ers, go ahead," for a sketch of the 
conversational programme had 
been drawn ofi" beforehand. 

"lam happy to say," replied 
Nell laughing, " that my ' fair 
hands,' as you are pleased to call 
them, are not much given to such 
laborious species of amusement, 
and as I have not been inside my 
kitchen for two weeks. Aunt Cloe 
must have all the credit, if there 
is any due to my culinary depart- 

If a bomb-shell had fallen and 
exploded, then and there, in the 
middle of the table between 
Mrs. Overnice and Mrs. Scrubin- 
well their looks of consternation 
could not have been greater, 


Model Housekeeping. 


or their countenances wore a 
more horrified expression. "Two 
weeks !" almost, shrieked Mrs. 
S., "two weeks !" shrieked a 
half-smothered echo from Mrs. 
O's capacious mouth, which was 
over-full of the delicate pastry, 
and both models gave a little 
bounce off their chairs, as if 
seated on gum-elastic cushions. 

" Nelly Eandom, rny (Tear child, 
how you do talk! it is well we are 
all friends here, and know your 
funny way of exaggerating and 
how much to believe of this most 
improbable assertion ; for, if such 
a thing should get out in town, it 
would ruin your reputation as a 
house-keeper forever, just suppose 
Mrs. McSweeper should hear it!" 

"Well, as I don't keep house 
to please Mrs. McSweeper, indi- 
vidually, or the town collectively, 
and only for my husband and 
true friends, it makes very little 
difference what estimate is placed 
upon my house-keeping, by the 
town, and if all reports be true, 
regarding Mrs, McSweeper's per- 
fections in that line, she ought to 
be too constantly occupied with 
her own kitchen and back-yard to 
care how often I visit mine!" 

"Kelly does not exaggerate 
either, I assure you ladies," said 
!Fra«k, turning with his most in- 
sinuating smile to Scrub. "She 
has not been in the kitchen for a 
whole fortnight, I know, for hav- 
ing caught her there two weeks 
ago, and actually at work, 
I put a positive injunction on all 
such unlady-like proceedings, and 
as a punishment, forbade her en- 
tering Aunt Cloe's domains for a 
specified time, no matter how 

The two astonished dames 
turned the full battery of their 
eyes upon poor Frank at this 
critical juncture, and Mrs. S., 
bringing her tongue to bear at 
the same instant, said in her most 
caustic style. 

"Really, Mr. Random, you are 
severe upon those who consider it 
a necessary part of good house- 
keeping to look after culinary ar- 

"Not at all," responded Frank, 
blandly, "and there can be nothing 
personal to the present company, 
in my remark, for I am very sure 
such famous managers as we have 
here, can never find it necessary 
to frequent the kitchen, save at 
rare intervals, simply to encour- 
age the cook in a neat and orderly 
style of conducting matters, or 
to prevent anything monstrous, 
such as making up bread in a 
wash-bowl, feeding chickens off 
the biscuit-board, or making a 
dog kernel of the kitchen floor!" 

Nelly thought of Aunt Cloe's 
" style," though guiltless of such 
monstrous improprieties, and said 
inwardly: "Well, Mr. Frank, 
you certainly possess no small 
share of assurance to turn the 
tables on two veterans in that 
fashion," for, so completely as- 
tonished were the models, and 
those of the Random school also, 
at his audacity, that a dead 
silence reigned for several min- 
utes, broken at last by Mr. Scrub- 

Now Mr. S. was a small man, 
with small locks of iron gray hair, 
branching out in prim comical 
manner on each side of his small 
head, adding to the extreme look 
of apprehension which pervaded 


Model Housekeeping. 


his countenance, for his small, 
dark eyes were always darting 
round with an apprehensive ex- 
pression, as if in perpetual terror 
of something disagreeable turn- 
ing up. The fact is Mr. S. was 
' a man of small qualities, qualifi- 
cations, and capacities generally 
— there was but one great sensa- 
tion in his composition, viz: his 
immense apprehension of Mrs. S., 
and no wonder, for her wrath was 
prodigious! and quite sufficient to 
keep several small men apprehen- 
sive. He was always on the look- 
out for clouds on the matrimonial 
horizon; and having been weath- 
er-beaten by storms setting from 
that direction for a large portion 
of his life, it was no matter of 
astonishment to the friends of lit- 
tle' Mr'. S. that he endeavored to 
steer as clear of these domestic 
tornadoes as the very diminutive 
compass of his small wit would 
allow! But, on the present oc- 
casion, Mr. S. had been indulgiiig 
rather more freely than usual in 
some fine old sherry, and felt, 
under its warming influence, very 
fine himself, and so bold that 
his boldness reached the verge of 
temerity, for the table was," be- 
tween himself and Mrs. S. — to 
say nothing of the wine — so he 
. came suddenly to the determina- 
tion of advancing an opinion, ai?id 
did so, in his own little, peculiar, 
apprehensive way, looking full in 
the face of his matrimonial hori- 

" Bless my soul, Polly, I think 
Miss Nelly— I beg pardon— Mrs. 
Random is quite right to keep out 
of the kitchen in such savage 
weather!" and. Mr. S., switching 
out a small silk handkerchief, 

YOL. Y. NO. I. 

wiped the small drops of perspira- 
tion from his small forehead, and 
then to bolster up his small, and 
rapidly declining courage, gulped 
down another glass of sherry, 
poured out by Frank, in expecta- 
tion of rising storms. 

"Mr. S. !" snapped out the ex- 
treme indignation of Mrs. Scrub, 
" You know if there is anything 
on earth I hate, it is to be called • 
' Polly. ' My name is Mary Loui- 
sa — I prefer the latter, and pre- 
sume that is the reason you al- 
ways choose the former, vulgar- 
ized, for I do think Polly is the 
vulgarest name on earth." And 
the capacious breast- works of out- 
raged Mrs. S. heaved with such a - 
prodigious swell as to threaten 
destruction to all restraining sur- 
roundings, such as stays, hooks, 
etc., as she proceeded. "The 
weather is never too warm for me 
to attend to my domestic duties!" 

Now the last glass of wine had 
done wonders with the small 
man's declining courage, and he 
replied, through a little facetious 
laugh : "Well ! well, Polly 
used to be your name in old times 
when I courted you, my dear, 
maybe that's the reason I like it, 
and as to the kitchen, you see, 
old seasoned timber can stand 
heat better than new, and Miss 
Kelly, excuse me, Mrs. Random, 
you're quite right not to spoil 
your pretty white skin over the 
fire ; you know, — Polly, God bless 
my soul, there I go again — 
Mary, I should say, when we 
were young, I used to beg you 
not to fuss so about cooking and 
such things," and again, Mr. S. 
looked his smiling tempest full in 
the face. The first bomb- shell 


Model Housekeeping. 


was a squib to this last stunner, 
and the electrified little speaker 
(to whom the over-powering ef- 
fects of his audacity were begin- 
ning to be reached) seized the de- 
canter of sherry once more as the 
cloud burst with a vengeance, for 
a button flew oflf and struck his 
plate as giving another visible 
swell of offended dignity, the 
majestic model spoke. 

"I don't remember your in- 
terfering, at any time or in any 
way, with my domestic arrange- 
ments, Mr. Scrubbinwell, but if 
you did once, I fancy you never 
dared a repetition," and looking 
unutterable things at her fright- 
ened little man, she attempted a 
sarcastic smile, which was a 
• failure, and faded off in a sort of 
green pallor, ghastly and portent- 
ous like the sea-green hue of a 
thunder cloud! 

"Bravo ! Scrubbinwell," ex- 
claimed Frank, before the words 
of wrath were fairly uttered, "you 
are a trump and I hold you on my 

" Trumps are not always the 
winning cards, however, Frank, 
and as you gentlemen are not ex- 
pected to know much about the 
duties of house-keeping, you had 
just as well yield with a good 
grace," said Nelly, making a 
move to adjourn to the drawing- 

"No we won't give up either, 
we are the best judges of what 
our wives ought to do, as they are 
supposed to study our comfort, 
and I shall take care to keep you 
regulated now, Miss Nelly, before 
you become 'seasoned timber,' 
to quote from the most eloquent 
remarks of Mr. S.," and he made 

a bow to her offended Scrubship, 
who went sailing out through the 
dining-room door under a full 
press of indignation I 

" Yery well," said Nelly with 
her light laugh, ' 'manage your own 
affairs as you will and let other 
people enjoy the same privilege. " 

"That's just what I want, 
Miss Nell," he answered, "so re- 
member you are to keep house to 
please your husband, a-la Ean- 
dom, and not to please the town, 
a-la McS weeper, or any other 
model in that line," and he smiled 
a bland expressive smile at the 
two models, so-called, present. 
"Don't you think I am right, 

" Certainly, we do," quickly re- 
plied Nannie Danvers, — the two 
insulted dames were by this time, 
past speech — "for after such a 
dinner, Nelly must take a high 
stand among the models of even 
a severer school of house-keeping 
than that supported in this severe 
town. Let me give you some 
coffee, Mr. Overnice," and the 
two defeated feminines were glad 
to seek an antidote for their 
warm feelings, in the steaming 
Mocha. Mr. S. having taken 
refuge in a corner, as far from 
his amiable spouse as possible, 
was looking rather more ap- 
prehensi\^e than usual, perspir- 
ing freely over his coffee, and 
still more so over the thought of 
that storm of wrath which Mrs. 
S. was nursing diligently to keep 
it warm. He had ventured an 
opinion in opposition to Polly 
under the inciting influence of 
sherry ! May it be long before he 
indulges in a like quantity of 
sherry again I and his apprehen- 


Model Housekeeping. 


sive side-long looks over the frail 
bulwark of a small coffee cup 
from his corner of refuge, in the 
direction of danger, expressed as 
much, and more; and we venture 
to say, Mr. Scrub will be less in- 
temperate in future, as regards 
the consumption of old or new 
wine, and also presumptuous in 
launching bomb-shells at "Polly!" 

"Oh! but wont he catch it, 
though?" said Frank, so soon as 
they were alone after that mem- 
orable dinner, " and didn't I beat 
old Puzzle-guzzle in a fair fight? 
She wont dare to open her mouth 
to you about housekeeping again, 
I fancy. What fun it was ! and 
then to think of weak little Scrub's 
coming to the rescue! "Who would 
have thought it ? Hurrah ! for 
ray fine old sherry — how it did 
sharpen both his little wit and his 
little courage! I say, Nell, aren't 
you glad its over, and that we 
whipped the enemy?" 

"Yes, I'm glad its over, but 
the eneray wont stay whipped. 
Model housekeepers are not to be 
extinguished by bomb-shells,either 
foreign or domestic! Poor little 

man! how I do pity him getting 
into such a scrape for me — its too 
bad. Just imagine how wretch- 
edly he will feel when the sherry 
dies off, and ' Polly' comes on in 
full force to the attack. Oh, dear! 
its dreadful, and I do wish the 
small idiot had held his stupid 
little tongue, don't you. Prank?" 

"Ko indeed, it was such fun, 
and a blowing up wont hurt him 
a bit, he's used to it. Mercy, how 
the two old women bounced when 
the ' two weeks' bomb-shell ex- 
ploded, didn't they? It was as 
good as a play! Go up to the ba- 
by, Nelly, Betty's roaring ' John 
Brown's body' in his ear again, 
and she'll be as deaf as a post be- 
fore long if you don't stop it. By 
George! it's enough to split the 
ear of a Rhinoceros! I'm going 
to smoke and write to Bob about 
my triumph over old Puzzle. — 
Au rei'6) «■?•." 

And off went Prank to the li- 
brary, and Nelly to her baby, 
both well pleased with the suc- 
cess of a model dinner-party a la 

68 An Alpine Picture. [^^y> 


(after kuskin.) 

Ferny pastures, beetling rock, 
Slopes half islanded by streams. 
Glisten in the amber gleams 
Of the sunshine, — gleams that mock 
Shadowed field, and cool, grey rock. 

Farther up, the sobbing pines 
Hold their uncontested sway, 
Shutting out the winsome day 
With their sullen, serried lines, 
— Mournful, melancholy pines! 

Through them, with eternal roar. 
From the glaciers, thunder deep 
Torrents, whose terrific leap 
Pales them, plunging evermore 
Shuddering through the twilight roar: — 

Filling with their misty cold, 
All the gorges in their fall, 
As athwart the granite wall. 
Which they loosen from its hold, 
Down they shiver, blanched with cold. 

Thread this craggy mountain path. 
Fringed with ferns that shun the light, 
Climb the ridgy, rugged height, — 

Stand within the arch that hath 

Bounded in the curving path. 

Dark against the whitened foam, — 
Kises a rude cross of pine. 
Whose mysterious, sacred sign 

* See Modern Painters, page 313. 

1868.] An Alpine Picture. 69 

Points the thoughts that wandering roam, 
Skyward, through the eddying foam. 

From the lichen 'd niche we gaze 

Out upon the pale, far sky, 

Where the peaks that stretch so high, 
Catch the tender, dying day's 
Last, faint flushes, while we .gaze. 

Drop your vision fathoms down 

Yonder cavernous abyss, 

Where the waters seethe and hiss, 
And the jagged snow-crags frown — 
Drop it like a plummet down. 

All along the laboring steep, 
Where the traveler's alpenstock 
Needs must pierce the ice-bound rock, — 
f ^ Let your straining glances sweep. 

Scanning all the toilsome steep. 

Then, look up! — See how the cross 

Casts its symbol-shade sublime, 

O'er the wrack and roar of time — 
O'er its fret, and moil and loss: 
So! — we'll rest here — at the cross. 



The Tomb of Napoleon. 



" I desire that my remains 
should repose on the banks of the 
Seine, in the midst of that French 
people I have loved so well." 

Such were the words the dying 
Emperor appended to his last will 
and testament, as amid the storm- 
ing and convulsion of the ele- 
ments, on the lonely and barren 
Isle of St. Helena, his great spirit 
separated from its tenement of 
clay. They are peculiarly touch- 
ing and sublime. They are not 
so much the wishes of the man 
who had once been the pride and 
glory of the French nation, who, 
out of chaos, had brought order, 
and began for them a new career 
in the race of nations: as the out- 
workings of a feeling that mingles 
with the longing of every soul, 
that realizes the numbering of its 
days on earth. It matters not 
how great our hatred towards, or 
how justly we believe ourselves to 
have been wronged by, our native 
land, we all imagine our dust will 
rest more quietly " 'neath our pa- 
rent turf," and we prefer an ene- 
my rather than a stranger to tread 
over our tomb. 

There was little prospect at the 
time of the utterance of these 
words, that the prayer of that 
spirit, borne down with anguish, 
would be fulfilled, and that after 
being guarded for eighteen years 
by that ceaseless tramp of an Eng- 
lish sentinel, those remains would 
no longer be tossed by the wild 
waves of the Atlantic, but be laid 
to rest on "the banks of the 
Seine," amid the grandest and 

most heartfelt pageant the fickle 
population of Paris ever accorded 
their once beloved Idol. 

Such are the overturnings and 
upheavings of the political world. 
The Power that contributed more 
than any other to the restoration 
of the older and more aristocratic 
branch of the Bourbon family, was 
the first to acknowledge the suc- 
cess of the Citizen King, seeing 
not, or caring not that in time to 
come Louis Philippe would give 
place to the representative of the 
man that England "feared and 

Though the mortal part of Na- 
poleon was reposing beneath the 
friendly willow in the green val- 
ley of the Atlantic Isle, his name 
and the glorious memories of his 
genius continued to agitate the 
hearts of his people, and the ple- 
beian Bourbon, more sagacious 
than the rest of his family, who 
would neither learn nor forget, 
determined to make himself capi- 
tal from the bones of his ances- 
tral enemy. 

Time, in a measure, had soften- 
ed even the English nation, and 
as no good purpose could be served 
by a refusal, they were willing to 
grant the demands of the French 
Monarch, and restore the ashes 
of the man they had been watch- 
ing so carefully for nearly a score 
of years. To give still further 
significance to the aflTair, in 1840 
an expedition was dispatched un- 
der the son of the King to bring 
the crumbling dust to its natural 
place of rest, and to pay the last 


The Tomb of Na])oleon. 


sad offices to departed greatness. 
When the remains had reach Par- 
is and were carried to the Hotel 
des Invalides, a Bourbon King re- 
ceived the ashes of Napoleon " in 
the name of France" and, in be- 
half of her people, welcomed them 
to their place of repose "on the 
banks of the Seine in the midst of 
that French people he had loved 
so well." 

For eleven years, the honored 
remains rested in the chapel of 
the Hotel des Invalides, while a 
tomb was being prepared worthy 
the nation's hero. The work was 
completed in 1853, and under the 
auspices of a Kapoleon, imposing 
ceremonies marked the change to 
a monument magnificent, but only 
temporary, as the Napoleons are 
to forego the past, and sleep the 
long sleep beside the Bourbon, at 
St. Denis. 

The Hotel des Invalides was 
built by Louis XIV. at the re- 
quest of his War Minister, Lou- 
vois, in 1671. It is for the recep- 
tion of old and disabled soldiers of 
the French armies. Three thou- 
sand monuments to the ravages 
of war dwell here. In its dis- 
cipline and management are still 
retained the military regulations, 
and each of the veterans must 
have been a pensioner of the 
Imperial Treasury, and served in 
some branch of the army for thir- 
ty years. The Governor is a Mar- 
shal of France. This hospital is 
one of the noblest works of which 
the country can boast, for what- 
ever may be said of the French 
people, among those charges can- 
not be enumerated the neglect of 
those who have contributed life or 
strength to the military renown of 

this war-loving race. The recol- 
lections of past glory are not al- 
lowed even here to pass away. 
On an esplanade in front of the 
building is a battery of captured 
guns in which most European na- 
tions are represented. The church 
is decorated with the flags taken 
during the wars of Napoleon. — 
Once they numbered three thou- 
sand, but most were burnt before 
the occupation by the allied ar- 
mies, and now only 34 worn and 
dirty emblems remain of so vast a 
multitude. In the vaults beneath 
are long lists of names that fill 
one with awe, comprehending that 
array o^ soldiers that shed so 
bright a lustre about the memories 
of the First Empire, and which, 
during the beginning of the pres- 
ent and the close of the past cen- 
tury, made France the terror of 
Europe. We select at random 
such as Berruyer, Lannes, Eble, 
Kleber, Jourdan, Mortier, Grou- 
chy, Bertrand, Oudinot, etc. 

There are two churches, an an- 
cient and modern one. Above 
the former, approached from the 
Place Yauban, rises a dome which, 
for beauty and grandeur, surpass- 
es anything of the kind in exist- 
ence. It is three hundred and 
twenty feet high and combines 
the result of thirty years' toil, by 
one of the most celebrated archi- 
tects France has ever produced. 
Beneath this dome rests all that is 
mortal of the illustrious Emperor. 

" The dome measures sixty one 
yards on the four sides. The por- 
tal consists of a triple building 
with a flight of fifteen steps. — 
Fourteen columns decorate the 
principal entrance. There are al- 
so fifteen other columns, among 


The Toml) of Napoleon. 


which are seen too niches con- 
taining white marble statues of 
St. Louis, and Charlemagne. 

"Above the Doric entablature 
rises a story supported by columns 
of the Corinthian order. There 
are also three figures representing 
Temperance, Fortitude and Pru- 
dence. The escutcheon of the 
arms of France is in the pediment 
of the portico, and at the summit 
is a cross, with two figures repre- 
senting Faith and Charity. 

" The principal front is of in- 
comparable richness. Forty com- 
posite columns decorate the eleva- 
tion of the dome, and eight piers 
support thirty-two columns, on the 
outside. The inside is lighted by 
stained glass windows, crowned 
with heads of angels and cheru- 
bim. Twelve windows with 
semi-circular arches form the at- 
tic above. A stone balustrade is 
placed above the eight large com- 
posite piers." 

On the cornice above the large 
piers are plinths supporting can- 
delabra, behind them rises the 
dome, the form of which calls for 
all one's admiration. Trophies of 
arms, in bas-relief, ornament all 
the largest sides. The dome is 
supported by four enormous piers. 
At the four cardinal points are 
four chapels. The roof of the 
nave forms four arches. In the 
pendentives of these arches we 
see the figures of the four evange- 
lists, admirably painted by Dela- 

Between the pilasters of the 
basement are twelve windows 
which light the drum of the dome. 
Above, alternating with pannels. 
are arches on which are painted 
the twelve Apostles, by Sowvenet. 

The cupola that surmounts this 
dome, contains a splendid paint- 
ing, by Delafosse, representing 
'•'■tSt. Louis offering to the Saviour, 
the sword destined to combat the 
enemies of the religion of the 
true God." 

Although the Chapel of St. 
Louis was designed before the 
genius of Napoleon Bonaparte 
had developed itself, yet, no place 
could have been more fitting for 
his tomb, certainly none grander 
in its conception, or more ex- 
quisite in its execution. Art has 
here exhausted its powers, yet 
grandeur and simplicity are so 
combined, as to produce the most 
powerful effect. The tall cross 
pointing Heavenward— God's em- 
blem to man— bespeaks the holy 
character of the building. Here 
the emotions of religion and 
military glory are combined, the 
feelings that act most effectively 
on the French heart. 

In through the lofty portal, 
with uncovered heads, the multi- 
tude pass. On either side the en- 
trance, are monuments to Turenne 
and Vauban, which contain their 
mortal remains, " each a master- 
piece of art." They were mighty 
and unsurpassed as Great Cap- 
tains, in their day, but the bright- 
ness of their genius has dimned 
before the later hero, and they 
guard the door of his sepulchre. 
Passing over a floor of magnifi- 
cent Mosaic, you reach a white 
marble balustrade, surrounding a 
depression, twenty feet deep, un- 
der the centre of the dome. Be- 
neath you is the sarcophagus of 
Napoleon I. 

The tomb is only open on Mon- 
days and Thursdays. All day 


The Torn!) of Napoleon. 


long eager crowds gather here to 
pay honor to the venerated dust. 
Hour after hour the stream passes 
by, yet, there is no diminution to 
the vast concourse, and no lessen- 
ing of that feeling of sacred awe 
that fills every mind. Above the 
matchless work of human skill: 
beneath, enclosed in stone, the 
mouldering form of him whose 
name will live while there is an 
appreciation of heroic daring, or 
xmequaled genius. A soft and 
gentle light falls around, so deli- 
cately shaded, as to appear 
reflected through mother of 
pearl. No brilliant light enters 
tiere. )It comes as if awed by 
some unseen power, and hangs 
about the tomb as if unwilling to 
dispel the sad solemnity of the 

Just in front of the depression 
is the altar of St. Louis. It is a 
gilt canopy, supported by four 
twisted columns of black marble, 
twenty-three feet high, each made 
from a single block. The altar is 
surmounted by a figure of Christ, 
in white marble, attached to a 
gilt cross. The sides are faced 
with green marble. 

The altar has been raised and a 
passage opened under it to the 
•Crypt. On either side are marble 
steps leadmg down behind the 
altar, terminating in the gallery, 
which is adorned with numerous 
statues. The light is here veiled, 
and is in harmony with the whole 
spirit of the place. On the sides 
of the corridor stand the tombs 
-of Bertrand and Duroc, The 
former, after following Napoleon 
in Egypt, and all his campaigns, 
both North and South, who bore 
the exile at Elba, mingled in the 

dangers of "Waterloo, and comfort- 
ed amid the sufferings ' of St. 
Helena, stands as a sentinel at 
his master's grave. Duroc, whom 
the Emperor loved as a brother, 
who shared his triumphs and de- 
feats from 1797 to 1813, and who 
finally died a soldier's death, in 
Silesia, divides with the faithful 
Bertrand, the solemn duty of 
watching at the gates of his 

Beside the door of the Crypt 
are two colossal bronze statues of 
stern and forbidding aspect, hold- 
ing an Imperial crown and sceptre. 
One personates the civil, the other 
the military power. Above the 
door, placed in a block of black 
marble, is the inscription, 

'■'■ J6 clSsire^ que mes cendres re- 
posent sur les hords de la Seine au 
milieu de ce peuple Francais que 
J'>ai tant aim^.''^ 

Placed in the middle of the 
Crypt is the sarcophagus. It is 
thirteen feet long, six and a half 
wide, and thirteen high. It is 
made of a red granite, brought 
from Finland, is the hardest mar- 
ble known, and when exposed to 
the atmosphere defies, unchanged, 
the lapse of centuries. It is 
formed of four blocks, and stands 
on a plinth of green Russian 
marble. There is a second coffin 
made of Corsican stone, which 
encloses the two caskets original- 
ly used in St. Helena. The sarco- 
phagus is plain, though beauti- 
fully polished, a work which was 
so difficult as to demand the use 
of steam. 

The pavement around the sar- 
cophagus is of rich Mosaic, in the 
form of a Roman laurel wreath, 
with rays of light emanating 


The Tomb of Napoleon. 


from every 'point. In the Mosaic 
are inscribed the words, Blvoli, 
Pyramids, Marengo, Austerlitz, 
Jena, Friedland, Wagram,3foscow. 
The circular walls are adorned 
with bas-relief figures, represent- 
ing the most remarkable events in 
the history of France, during Na- 
poleon's reign, while the ceiling 
is supported by twelve pillars of 
white Carrara marble, each of 
which is a large figure, facing the 
tomb, and holding symbols of as 
many victories under the First 
Emperor. These were executed 
by the distinguished artist Pra- 
dier, who died before the last 
monuments of skill had taken up 
their proud position. Around the 
open part of the Crypt, are hung 
twelve lamps, made from models 
discovered at Pompeii. Even 
their light is softened by shading, 
and they are only used upon the an- 
niversaries of remarkable events 
which occurred in the life of the 
illustrious dead. 

A small sanctuary leads off" the 
Crypt, called the Chapelle Ar- 
dente. It is closed by an iron 
door, and in it are deposited, the 
sword used by the Emperor at 
Austerlitz, the golden crown pre- 
sented by the city of Cherbourg, 
the insignia he wore on grand oc- 
casions, and seventy fiags captured 
by the French armies. It is dimly 
lighted by a lamp, and through 
the grating is seen, in one corner, 
a statue of Napoleon in his Im- 
perial costume. 

This monument to Napoleon, 
as was said before, in a remarka- 
ble degree combines the religious 
and military element, and to this 
fact is attributed the selection of 

the designs by Visconti. The 
work is not yet completed. The 
Court or entrance is to be filled up ' 
with statues of the twelve Mar- 
shals created when the Enaperor 
gave new life to " that institution 
of the old monarchy." In the 
centre on a rich pedestal is to be 
a statue of Napoleon, in military 
costume, as he appeared on the 
field of battle. " Thus we have 
outside, the man — inside, his 

Notwithstanding all this beauty 
and grandeur, the ashes of the 
great warrior are not to remain 
here. Louis Napoleon has chosen, 
as the last resting place of his 
family, St. Denis, where, for 
sixty generations the Bourbons 
have been gathered to their fath- 
ers. Whatever may be the fate 
of the present government, what- 
ever may be the destiny Paris im- 
poses upon France, the name of 
Napoleon will ever live in the 
hearts of this people. For a 
time after his fatal defeat, at 
Waterloo, and the subsequent oc- 
cupation by the Allies, when the 
nation was burning under the 
shame and ignominy of foreign 
domination, his name lost its 
charm, and for a season, allegi- 
ance to his glories grew cold. 
Yet, as the recollection of these 
has passed away, and his family 
have again brought France to a 
proud place in the European Con- 
federation, the bonds that bind 
them are stronger than ever, tried 
as they have been in adversity, 
and the fame of the First Em- 
peror will ever be in the eyes of 
Frenchmen, their proudest legacy.- 


The Grave of Marshal Ney. 



Mejt are generally judged by 
the manner in which they live, 
yet sometimes by that in which 
they die. Whatever may have 
been the merits or demerits of 
Key's conduct, no one can 
deny that there was, in his 
death, a sublime heroism which 
^ demands admiration. The ne- 
cessity or even the policy of po- 
litical executions will remain to 
the end of time a disputed ques- 
tion. Upon whichever side indi- 
vidual opinions may be, it cannot 
destroy the veneration of man- 
kincl for the soul which, sustained 
and encouraged by its moral in- 
nocence and the justness of its in- 
tentions, fights, undaunted, the 
last great struggle. 

Fifty-two years ago Marshal 
Key died appealing " to Europe 
and posterity," and though the 
Chamber of Peers pronounced him 
guilty of treason, posterity, as he 
predicted, has reversed the ver- 
dict and acquitted him of the 

Truly there was some thing 
sublime in the character of the 
man who chose " to die a French- 
man rather than live a Prussian." 
Who, although given, by the 
Government that executed him, a 
passport to leave the confines of 
France, when in sight of a for- 
eign land, gave up the prospect 
of safety, and preferred to bear all 
that might follow rather than 
have his name tainted with a 
breath of dishonor. 

It was on the 7th day of De- 
cember, 1815, that the fatal sen- 

tence was carried into execution. 
Carried from the Palace of Lux- 
embourg into the adjoining gar- 
den he gladly gave the signal that 
was to end his then burdensome 
life. The darkness and gloom 
was in keeping with the sadness 
of the scene then being enacted. 
Facing, unblinded, his own sol- 
diers, he fell, in the gray dawn of 
that December morning, a victim 
to the broken faith of England, 
pledged through her representa- 
tive, the Duke of Wellington. — 
Hence he was carried to the 
heights of Pere La Chaise, the 
city of the dead that overlooks 
the gay Capital of France. 

The manner of his death brought 
with it no disgrace in the eyes of 
the people he had so nobly served, 
and his dust moulders alongside 
the monuments that record the 
proudest names in the category of 
illustrious Frenchmen. 

In keeping with a sentiment 
that pervades everything connect- 
ed with the death of Key, not 
even a cross or a stone marks his 
grave. Around it on every side 
are, costly monuments and chapels 
(fitted up as for the living) but 
among them is one (at least in 
this sense) unhonored grave. 

A small circular space, sur- 
rounded with a hedge, and plant- 
ed with beautiful flowers which 
are sedulously cared for, is the 
only material record to the man, 
whose name was once the watch- 
word of the brave, and whose 
chivalry was the pride of a chival- 
rous nation. Few can stand by the 


Demoralized Weeklies. 


spot unmoved. The old guide, who row and pride, he points, and in 
passes by it a score of times daily, broken English exclaims: " There 
sheds tears as, with mingled sor- sleeps the bravest of the brave. " 


No one can reflect a moment 
and fail to see the vast influence 
of the newspaper press in Ameri- 
ca — an influence already almost 
unlimited and growing day by 
day in power of working good or 

In a reading — if not a Eed — 
Republic where "the people is 
king," there must be some power 
to govern the sovereign; and with 
us that unseen influence comes 
from clean type and white paper. 

Though the daily press, espe- 
cially in great metropolitan cen- 
tres, leads public opinion — when 
it does not make it — still the work 
done by the weeklies is too im- 
portant to be despised. For these 
weeklies, in some sort, off"- shoots 
of the dailies, in some sort share 
their influence with a class of 
readers, less numerous perhaps, 
but more important because more 

The great daily finds its way 
at early morning into the hands 
of the broker, the merchant and 
the politician. It is hastily turn- 
ed over for a glance at the news, 
the markets, or for skimming the 
political leader: and then it is 
thrown upon the floor of the 
horse-car, descends to the ser- 
vants'-hall, or does duty round a 
parcel from market. Or perhaps 

its possessor is a working man, a 
detrimental do-nothing, or one of 
"the Fancy." In the first case 
there is a laborious spelling of the 
local news and the price list; in 
the second, a glance at the crit- 
iques and a careful study of the 
Paris letter; while the last reads 
with delectation of the late 
" mill," picks the plums from the 
police report and looks at the ad- 
vertisements of sport, dog-trainers 
and rat matches. 

But in any case the great daily 
is born for an object, accomplish- 
es it and then — like the fabled 
Epliemeron — dies before the mor- 
row's sun sees a fresh birth take 
its place. 

It has found its way into some 
hundred thousand pairs of hands; 
it has sent through some hundred 
thousand pairs of eyes into some 
hundred thousand brains — more 
or less fruitful— some particular 
seed best suited to the soil, there 
to germinate, perhaps. 

But the weekly — of equal ability 
and tone — meets its reader at din- 
ner, or tea, after the business of 
the day is done; or else it is pock- 
eted carefully till leisure offers for 
a calmer reading. 

The weekly appeals to the men- 
tal appetite with just the same 
difference from the daily as there 


Demoralized Weeklies. 


is between the varied, plentiful 
but jostled dinner of the steaming 
table cZ' liote and the substantial, 
plain, but thoroughly comfortable 
dinner at home. 

While the daily touches bold- 
ly, graphically and sometimes 
thoughtfully, the vital topics of the 
hour, the weekly has time to col- 
lect the cream of many dailies and 
give it — in a calmer and more 
scholarly article — dessicated and 
condensed so as to be readily ab- 
^sorbed and thoroughly nourish- 

The daily appeals to the mass- 
es; is the barometer by which 
they measure the fluctuations of 
party, of morals and of money. — 
But the considered utterance of a 
journal like the Nation or the 
Bound Table appeals to the few 
who think for the masses; and 
thus reacts upon them. 

Eeflecting therefore upon the 
important mission to be performed 
by the weekly journalism of Amer- 
ica, we cannot too deeply regret 
the base uses to which it has come 
at last: — to pander to the pru- 
rient indecency of the great cities, 
or to the still more base passions 
of sectional bitterness. 

Though the march of demoral- 
ization has been wofuUy rapid, 
and hurtful, in compound ratio, 
even to its rapidity, we can clear- 
ly trace its commencement to the 
birth of the mania for popular il- 
lustrations. While the organs of 
Thought and of Eeason were, 
doubtless, a power still, thinkers 
and reasoners were too few to 
make them paying investments; 
and while the number of readers 
increased immensely, the number 
of thinkers remained a constant 

quantity. Thousands of readers 
clamored, weekly, for something 
amusing— for something " light." 

And then Progress, with the 
big P, put her tax- stamp upon 
every publication, and descent 
began. ISTow they have some- 
thing " light " in the moral, as 
well as the mental balance. 

Pictorial illustrations— appeal- 
ing to the eye and to no deeper 
sense — naturally attracts many to 
whom a thoughtful article were 
Sanscrit, or a humorous sketch 
utterly incomprehensible. Pub- 
lishers, finding the quantity of 
buyers increase as the quality de- 
creased, had little hesitation about 
reducing the pabulum offered to 
the level of the greatest majority 
of palates. 

Facilis descensus : and the down- 
ward movement, beginning slow- 
ly, soon degenerated into a tum- 
ble. Papers entirely lost any 
claim to control, or even to ele- 
vate, public taste. They strove 
solely to cater to that of the 
greatest number, let it be never 
so low; and as a result, became 
simply a budget of pictures, to 
which the reading matter was 
loosely adapted. 

And yet we have never had a 
first-class illustrated paper be- 
come a great and undeniable 
power in America. Nothing is 
more common than the expres- 
sion of surprise that we never had 
an American Punch. 

There is no cause for wonder. 
Even granting that in the exces- 
sive numbers of American read- 
ers, there are more thoroughly 
appreciative of keen and pointed 
humor than in England, still the 
fact is undoubted, that the vast 


Demoralized WeeMies. 


majorities here prefer the broad 
to the delicate. The early death 
of three or four rather good imi- 
tations of Punch has satisfied the 
paper men, at least, of this fact. 

A few papers — like the two 
named above — have, to their great 
credit, resisted the popular clamor. 
They have resisted Progress, and 
repudiated her tax, preferring to 
force their way by pure strength 
into a permanent position of 
utility, rather than grasp a spuri- 
ous prosperity that only dazzles 
by the phosphorescent gleams 
from its own putridity. There 
can be little doubt which will be 
better off when the good fight is 
fought, and common sense is her- 
self again ; but, meantime, all 
honor to the staunch few that 
battle in it for principle and 

Let any one, who doubts the 
mission of the illustrated week- 
lies, glance over the almost end- 
less list on the shelves of any 
newsman in the Union. 

He will find political pictorials 
of every shade of politics, of 
which the chief attraction is 
gross caricature of the better — 
because more prominent — men of 
every party. Lacking, equally, 
point of conception and ability of 
execution, these pasquinades seek 
"raciness" and novelty; and in 
the vain search for this, they pry 
into the private life of public men, 
drag their misfortunes into flam- 
ing publicity, and not infrequently 
manufacture, wholesale, the gross- 
est and most revolting libels. 

He will find the " comic" week- 
lies worse, if possible, in mechani- 
cal execution than the political: 
and perhaps even beneath them 

in ability of their subject matter. 
For their sole object is to amuse — 
Heaven save the mark! — and it is 
a sad reflection, in turning over 
the pages, dismal with bald trash, 
that in thousands and thousands 
of cases that object is accomplish- 
ed. But the strictly " comic" 
weeklies are rarely broadly inde- 
cent. Weak as is their attempt 
at fun, futile as is their strife after 
point, they yet tend to debase the 
mental rather than the moral 
man. Appealing to a class of 
readers far from eclectic, they 
seek solely for palpable hits and 
make up in broadness their wo- 
ful deficiency in ability of any 
sort. But, as a rule, they are 
low rather than immoral — coarse 
rather than indecent. 

Kext to these upon the counter 
lie heaps of fashion papers— meet 
organs of that fashion that is 
gauged by dollars and diamonds 
and that has reached the " Ger- 
man" stage on the high-road to 
Can-can. Flat justitia, however. 
The harm the fashion papers do 
is rather influential than direct, 
in stimulating still further aim- 
less rivalry and unwarranted ex- 
travagance. Adapted for the rose- 
tipped digits of upper-tendom 
they are more tasteful than their 
plebeian neighbors on the shelf. 
Their plates are more artistic and 
their reading matter is of the deli- 
cate mush-and-rose- water descrip- 
tion that cannot taint the highly 
perfumed atmosphere of fashion 
into which they penetrate. 

They are not '*food for strong 
men;" but there may be grave 
doubts if they are yet tonics for 
very weak women. 

But the most pretentious, while 


Demoralized WeeMies. 


surely the most influential school 
of weekly literature, is that which 
assumes to instruct while amus- 
ing. Edited with considerable 
ability, filled with careful en- 
gravings of really good drawings 
and, above all, claiming for them- 
selves a high moral tone, these 
journals penetrate into every 
household from the St. Lawrence 
to the Kio Grande. Not confined 
ito any particular class of readers, 
they naturally blend the charac- 
teristics of the three foregoing 
grades, and the mdange thus of- 
fered to the intellectual appetite, 
might be satisfying, if it were not 
sometimes sickening. 

And their field is so large and 
varied, that they have become, in 
some instances, a real power, 
which we may regret, but cannot 
afford to despise. Their attrac- 
tive pictures catch the eye of 
thoughtless youths and yawning 
do-nothings; they are a moment- 
ary relaxation for thought to 
■ wearied men of business. Some 
special article demands attention 
even from the solid thinker, or 
Madame, on the Avenue, must 
have the next chapters of the 
vigorous sensational novel. Even 
straightest laced moralists may 
find some excuse for cutting the 
leaves, innocent, perhaps, that a 
very cunning fox — if not a dan- 
gerous wolf— may lurk under the 
very lamb-like fleece. 

Eoremost in this school are 
Frank Leslie''s Illustrated Mews- 
paper, and Harper'^s Weekly, 
which is just what it modestly 
claims to be, '■'■A Journal of Civi- 

There is little in either paper to 
offend the taste, however much 

there may be in one of them to 
shock the prejudices. The for- 
mer numbers its readers by the 
hundred thousand, reaches into 
the South and South-west, as well 
as the North ; and is even repro- 
duced in German and Spanish. 
It is a source of sufUeierit revenue 
to its proprietor to warrant his 
devoting to it— and to its dozen 
monthly and weekly off"- shoots — 
an immense building which is a 
perfect hive of artists, engravers, 
writers, readers, printers, binders, 
folders— in short of every one of 
the busy bees that hum and buzz 
about a great newspaper. From 
this machinery each week turns out 
a dozen varied publications, with 
the "Illustrated newspaper" as 
their centre; these are distributed 
to every corner of the Union and 
even beyond it; they meet hun- 
dreds of thousands of readers of 
every age, class and position; and 
to many of these they naturally 
become an authority. 

" Harper''s Weekly'''' strives to 
reach a higher level of literary 
and moral usefulness, as is the 
duty of a "Journal of Civiliza- 
tion" — even in its present state. 
Backed by the capital of the most 
enterprising firm in New York, 
and by the influence of the still 
popular " Magazine," it still finds 
many readers and many blind be- 
lievers, although its popularity is 
monthly waning before the Kecon- 
structed "XesZi'e." 

Newspapers— especially illustra- 
ted newspapers — are rarely pub- 
lished for a more philanthropic 
purpose than to make money; 
and to accomplish this they must 
— eveh if they lead it — bend some- 
what to the popular opinion. — 


Demoralized WeeJcUes. 


During the war the Southern field 
was shut to both these, in com- 
mon with all ISTorthern publica- 

It became necessary to make up 
the lost Southern readers by get- 
ting fresh ones at the North. — 
" JJarper's WeeJcly^^ reveled in a 
perfect carnival of Southern atroc- 
ities, slave-drivings, prisoner- 
butcherings and all that pleasant 
school. Upon this, like eTeshu- 
run's ass, it "waxed fat and 
kicked" to a degree to bring its 
rival to a like course. "iesZie's 
Illustrated'''' thereupon produced 
many pictures of fearfully tattered 
and painfully emaciated Rebels 
passing under the yoke to appar- 
ently well-fed and certainly well- 
clothed Federals; nor was it be- 
hind hand in showing up in very 
deep lines and peculiarly black 
ink the horrors of Andersonville 
and Belle Isle ; — albeit we see no 
illustrations of Camp Chase. 

All this was very natural. The 
papers were meant to sell and this 
sold them: and no one can quar- 
rel with Interest for beginning at 
home where Charity sets the good 
example. We would think very 
little of the butcher who in- 
sisted on giving his patrons pork 
when they showed a marked pref- 
erence for veal; or of the shoe- 
maker who insists on a gentle- 
man wearing pointed toes if he 
declared for square. 

But since the war " JJarper's" 
has become a dangerous and in- 
curable lunatic on the radical 
question. It has out Heroded the 
Herod at the Capital in more than 
once striving to slay the male 
children of the South and the 
mothers that bare them as well. 

Latterly, it has worked off the fu- 
rious paroxysm, however, to that 
degree that its wild ravings have 
sunk into impotent gibberings. 

"iesZi'e," on the other hand, 
having had a much slighter at- 
tack — he was only inoculated by 
his neighbor and never took the 
rabies naturally— may be consid- 
ered as completely cured. If 
drunken with the success of his 
loyal pictures, the generous dis- 
play of reeling Helots in Washing- 
ton has quite sobered him now: 
and his tone each week shows a 
deeper conviction that a country 
is better than an anarchy. 

Equally able as its strongest 
rival in literary ability, in origi- 
nality and in excellence of illus- 
tration, it reaches a more widely 
diffused class of readers, and the 
evil worked by many numbers of 
Harper^s is neutralized by one 
such cut as that of "The bones- 
and-banjo Congress"— the point 
and inspiration of which come 
from a deeper source than the 
lines on the wood-block. 

Of another school — in fact of 
its own school— is Bonner's Ledger, 
which is the unique organ of prop- 
er sensation. Eschewing poli- 
tics, and not particularly strong 
in any way, but novelty; it cer- 
tainly outstrips all competition in 
that. Though there is seldom 
any thing startling in the Ledger, 
there is never anything shocking; 
and if not possessing the un- 
healthy vigor of IIarper''s, it is at 
least — 

" Weak -witliont rage, -without o'er- 
flowing full." 

From its inception, Mr. Bonner 
has -believed that one dollar ju- 
diciously spent in advertising, 


Demoralized WeeMies, 


would bring in two; and he has 
literally advertised his paper into 
such a paying circulation as will 
enable him, in his own language, 
" to buy the best of everything." 

Upon this principle, he lately 
bought the great trotter "Dex- 
ter," for his private wagon; and 
he moreover purchased the brains 
of Mr. Beecher for a very flat 
novel, and the wonderful memory 
of Mr. Greeley, whose "Kecollec- 
tjons of a Busy Life," date back 
some two hundred and forty years I 

But Mr. Bonner's last card is 
the life of General Grant, by his 
father. And though we are pre- 
pared for a war upon Lindley 
Murray, that may be vigorously 
waged " all summer," doubtless, 
the author of his existence is the 
best person to describe it. Ko 
doubt the Ledger would print 
next, the early days of Thaddeus 
Stevens, if the oldest inhabitant 
could be found to remember them. 

But with all its clap-trap, the 
Ledger is just the paper for the 
masses— not above their compre- 
hension, and never verging upon 
the boundaries of impropriety. 
Its owner justly described it in 

"I never print anything that 
an old lady would be afraid to 
put in the hands of her little girls 
when she goes out of an after- 

This— and his persistent adver- 
tising of unique sensations — has 
made the paper, perhaps, the 
greatest pecuniary success of all 
the Weeklies. 

But if your news-dealer is a 
respectable man— if he have a 
family, or a reputation — it may 
be that you will have to remove 

VOL. V. NO. I. 

a goodly pile of literature before 
coming to the substratum of veri- 
table "Demoralized Weeklies." 
These may be classed as com- 
prising the journals of the prize- 
ring, where all its brutal and de- 
grading features are exaggerated 
in sad caricatures of the little that 
is human in this inhuman pastime : 
of the Police Gazettes^ in which 
we find the most obscene and re- 
volting chapters of criminal low- 
life displayed in flaring pictures, 
and described in unctuous— if un- 
grammatical — exactitude ; and, 
finally, of the plenipotentiary, 
and fully accredited organs of 
open debauchery. 

These latter, have, within a 
short time, come to play so im- 
portant a role in our journalism 
as to deserve more than a passing 
notice; if, indeed, such very 
filthy pitch could be touched with- 
out defilement. They search the 
lowest foreign publications, and 
extracting from them the vilest 
pictures of depravity, broaden 
their outlines and deepen their 
tints. They dive into the loath- 
some purlieus of our own cities, 
and fishing up their reeking filthi- 
ness, spread it openly before a 
public, who snuff" up with dis- 
tended nostrils the savor, as that 
of a feast. They glory in being 
the gazetteers of fashionable broth- 
els; and seek to drag to a still 
lower level, the indecencies of the 
naked ballets in which our North- 
ern cities riot to-day. 

In short, they are receptacles 
for every species of moral filth 
that cannot find sewerage through 
other channels; are the records of 
most brutalizing acts that trans- 
pire in those nameless haunts — 



Demoralized Weelclies. 


" Where Satan sliows his cloven foot, 
And hides his titled name." 

Vilest among those that are all 
vile; — very Arch-Bestials in a 
carnival of beastiality are the 
latest born among them — "*SZef- 
son''s Dime Illustrated^'' and the 
" Last Sensation. " 

These twins — for born near the 
same time, they are of the same 
size, have the same debauched 
features, the same imbecility — 
leave nothing more to be desired 
by the Low- Priests of depravity. 
They exceed the wild prayer of 
those who asked " An Anti- 
Slavery God;" for, in the vilest 
terms, they 

"Preach the Gospel of Murder and 
praj'' for Lust's 

Kingdom to come !" 

They are veritable "Bibles of 
Damnation;" and their "Gene- 
sis" would bring a blush to the 
cheeks of those filthy monsters 
that Gulliver saw, as slaves to the 

Such, in unvarnished English, 
are some of the illustrated week- 
lies, one finds upon the shelves of 
every book-man in this patent re- 
public of free thought and free 
speech. And thty sell with a 
rapidity that makes us wonder 
while we grieve. 

"I have done my best," said 
one of the first metropolitan deal- 
ers: " I have written to the Chief 
of Police, stating that some of 
them are unfit for exhibition any- 
where, and that they should be at 
once suppressed. He does noth- 
ing, my customers demand them 
and I sell hundreds of each." 

There are two very cogent 
reasons why the chiei of Police 

" does nothing." The dealer gave 
the first in a nutshell, when he 
said "my customers demand 
them." It is a sad truth that 
popular taste — fed so long on the 
very highly spiced diet of sensa- 
tion — has become so morbid as to 
crave this peculiarly putrid food. 
There are thousands of readers 
who, beginning on the very anti- 
phlogistic "iedger," passed thro' 
the intermediate courses of the 
'•'■ Phunny Phellow''^ and the en- 
tremets of the ^^ Police Gazette''^ till 
they now can relish nothing more 
wholesome than the '■'•Last Sen- 
sation.'>'> And these gourmets are 
not confined, as one might sup- 
pose, to the dregs of the read- 
ing population. Solid looking 
men, decent looking boys and 
even quiet seeming girls elbow 
and jostle each other in the strug- 
gle to get late numbers, still damp 
from the press. 

I am informed that many of 
them find their way into the most 
fashionable quarters of every 
Northern city, where they give a 
zest to Madam's early chocolate, 
or share the sacred privacy of 
Miss's own chamber. Public 
taste, on both sides of the Atlantic, 
has been educated down to a 
low grade by a judicious course of 
Miss Braddon, Ouida, et id omne 
genus. With us on this side, the 
course has been generously illus- 
trated with the nude drama and 
the numberless criticisms thereof, 
good, bad and worse — but all 
couched in the very plainest of 
plain English. Our Police ma- 
chinery, too, lacks somewhat that 
precision of action characterizing 
that of Europe; and its ofiicials 
become most opportunely deaf, or 


Demoralized Weeklies. 


conveniently blind, when occa- 
sion demands. 

Here then are the two reasons. 

A vitiated and morbid public 
cravingjCalls for such publications 
and their sales are immense. The 
profit tempts some influential or 
wealthy publisher to do in reality 
the work, and reap the benefit 
from it, while some unknown in- 
dividual is the ostensible head. — 
Without knowing anything of the 
sort, one may make a shrewd 
guess that the Chief of Police, or 
his subordinates, must receive 
some equivalent — whether in mon- 
ey, in influence or in political as- 
sistance matters little — for careful- 
ly ignoring the fact that papers are 
daily exposed under his nose that 
far exceed the point of illegality. 
But with a .public crying " bread 
and bestiality" — as the old Span- 
iard cried '•'■Pan y Toro''^ — and 
a police that tacitly echoes the cry, 
there is no telling to what depth 
literature (so-called) may not be 
dragged down. 

But one fact comes nearer home 
to" our Southern people than this. 
We have long looked to the Korth 
for a large proportion of our books 
of amusement and instruction. — 
With the far more capable ma- 
chinery that the Korth had at 
command for their production, 
this was but natural. She got up 
far better picture papers, too, than 
we could and at a much less cost. 
Therefore these papers penetrated 
into the heart of our territory; 
and it was only when they were 
forced out by the blockade that 
our people ceased to read them. 
Even the gross libels upon South- 
ern men and manners, that coined 

money for " JTarper's Weekly'^ 

during the war, have not sufiiced 
to expel it altogether since its 

But if we must have the litera- 
ture of the North, there is no rea- 
son why we must have its immor- 
ality as well. 

Crushed, ruined and conquered 
as our people are, they can only 
be degraded by their own act. — 
Living in small congregations and 
with almost every thought con- 
centred on the struggle for bread, 
our people are removed from the 
temptations of the festering mass- 
es of every great city. They have 
but little time and no taste for in- 
decent displays on the stage; and 
the naked Drama would find few 
admirers in a trip from the Po- 
tomac to the Gulf. 

Why then do they permit the 
introduction from the North of a 
poison more subtle and more dan- 
gerous because forging the name 
of literature and put in a shape 
attractive to the young, the 
thoughtless and the weak; even 
while dressed with the scantiest 
drapery of propriety that 
" Gives all it can and bids us take the 

The writer had late occasion to 
travel through an intelligent por- 
tion of the South. In every train, 
in every town, and at every sta- 
tion he had a sight, or a sound of 
'■'■ Stetson'' s Dime!''' — '•'■ La-ast Sen- 
sationl'>'> from the Newsboys. — 
These latter were in most cases 
indigenous to the wood-nutmeg- 
iferous corner of the Union. Born 
in the shadow of Plymouth Kock 
and weaned on the east wind, 
their wits are as sharp as their 
features; and — with a splinter of 
the Sacred Stone in breeches pock- 


The Haversack. 


et — they have wedged their way 
into the South and vend the prod- 
ucts most congenial to them. 

" La Crosse Democrat and Les- 
lie sell well; and Harper sells a 
little," answered a very sharp- 
faced specimen to a query — " But, 
Lord! I sell ten Stetsons'' and ten 
Dimes f 01' one of anything else I 

And this boy's information was 
endorsed, wherever I made the in- 

If these new publications— still 
in their infancy— have already 
acquired a foothold in the South, 
they cannot fail to have a future, 
fraught with infinite evil. It 
matters not what portion of our 
people are the buyers. We might 
as well stop to enquire if it was 
the freed man, or Yankee emi- 
grant only, who had. the small- 

pox, or the plague. The poison 
has certainly made an entry, and 
the virus must spread. Actual 
cautery is the only remedy; and 
it is a hard case if there be not 
local law enough, left in the South, 
to summarily stop the sale of 
such broadly indecent sheets. 

It is the plain duty of the press 
to promptly and fully expose their 
true character: of every news- 
paper to warn its readers of their 
vicinage, as they would of the ap- 
pearance of the tobacco-worm, or 
any other foul vermin. 

This done; and there is little 
doubt that the strong innate love 
of decency our people possess, 
will, — if it do not drive them en- 
tirely out — at least, prevent much 
harm from the visits of the " De- 
moralized Weeklies.''' 


In the Spring of 18G1, when the 
Confederate and Federal forces 
were stationed at Pensacola and 
Fort Pickens, and before the se- 
cession of the State of Virginia, 
the United States steamer "Wyan- 
dotte" lay between the opposing 
forces, floating a flag of truce. 
Then, civilities between the two 
armies were not uncommon, and 
the death of Captain Berryman, 
Federal Commander of the Wyan- 
dotte occurring, permission was 
obtained to inter his remains in 
the cemetery of the " Marine 
Hospital," then in our possession. 

A jSTaval procession from the 
Federal fleet, outside the bar, 
brought the remains to the wharf, 
and by invitation, the Confederate 
officers united with the Federal 
in the procession, thence to the 

A Federal " Officer of the day " 
was arranging the officers, ir- 
respectively, according to rank, 
as the " Kegulations " required. 
It was before the adoption of the 
Confederate uniform, and our offi- 
cers were dressed as fancy, or con-~ 
venience, suggested to the vari- 
ous companies that composed our 


The Haversack. 


command. The Quarter-master 

of the Alabama regiment, a 

whole-souled patriot and gallant 
soldier, was present, in the uni- 
form of the volunteer company 
of which he was a member before 
the war. This consisted of a coat 
of blue cloth, single-breasted, a 
"navy cap," with broad band of 
gold lace, a small, straight sword, 
with white bone handle and brass 
scabbard, and the whole sur- 
mounted by a pair of epaulettes, 
borrowed from a Major General of 
militia. The officer of the day 
seemed " spiced with a little 
humor, " and as his eye fell upon 
our Quarter-master, he at once 
carried /him to the rear of the 
column; soon he returned and 
carried him to the front; again in 
passing along the line he removed 
him to the center, and with an 
air of anxious solicitude, remark- 

" Sir, if I fail to assign you 
your proper place in this proces- 
sion, you must really excuse me, 
but you will appreciate the diffi- 
culties under which I labor, when 
you remember that you' have on a 
Commodore's cap; a Major Gene- 
ral's epaulettes; a Captain's coat, 
and a Sergeant's sword." 

A wounded Irishman at Shiloh 
refused to be carried to the rear, 
saying that he wanted to see " the 
prasoners." He took out his short 
pipe, filled it up, struck a light 
and began to puff like a loyal edi- 
tor. As the prisoners filed past, in- 
cluding General Prince, he kept 
inquiring every minute, " I say, 
boys, what State are you from?" 
No one deigned a reply, all 
strode along in sullen, not to say 

majestic, silence. At length, one 
of our Northern brethren, being 
led along in durance vile, turned 
upon Patrick and cursing him 
bitterly said, "I'm from Ohio, 
you impertinent Irish rebel." — 
Pat, without taking the pipe out 
of his mouth and without a mo- 
ment's hesitation, answered, "and 
a good deliverance it was to the 
State of Ohio when you joined the 
Yankee army!" 

When we look around and see 
the number of graceless fellows at 
the South, who have turned their 
backs upon friends and country, 
and joined the ranks of the ene- 
mies of the white race, not to say 
of mankind, we are disposed to 
echo Pat's sentiment and exclaim, 
" and a good deliverance it was to 
the South when you joined the 
Kadical party." 

H. T. J. sends from Koxboro, 
N. C, the two following anec- 

I have just been rummaging 
your " Haversack," which, by the 
way, I find supplied with much 
daintier viands than our haver- 
sacks were of late wont to be filled 
with, and have concluded to pay 
for what I have had, by dropping 
a bone or two of my own into the 
capacious receptacle. " Of mov- 
ing accidents by field and flood" 
you have had a rich abundance. 
I propose to vary the repast now 
by two of difierent characters; for 
I see that your Haversack is like 
Littleton's pudding, wherein " is 
not commonly put one thing alone, 
but one thing with other things 

And first, as apposite to these 
times of rampant "loyalty," let 


The Haversack. 


me take you back to the super- born rebellion." Of them, though 
patriotic era of Know-nothingism. in their own time. It is a great 
Two men, whose initials only I consolation to know, that if they 
will give, to wit: H. C, a Demo- never get their deserts, on earth, 

crat, dyed in the wool, cut out they will in .) 

with Democratic shears and made I had for a mess- mate, Lieuten- 
up with Democratic needle and ant B. of the 55th Korth Caro- 
thread, and Gr. W., a Know-noth- lina. One night, a couple of the 
ing fresh from the furnace, and prisoners made their escape, and 
red-hot with enthusiasm, met in the next night the prison yard 
our town and straightway fell into was alive with men, crawling and 
the inevitable political wrangle, creeping about, trying to " follow 
Thej jawed each other by the suit." Kone, however, succeeded, 
hour and neither was convinced. On the return of my roommates, 
because each, intent only upon they told the following on my 
what he was saying himself, paid friend, George: 
no attention to what the other George, they said, was getting 
said. At last W., whose /orte was on finely, crawling on hands and 
the fervor and brilliancy of his knees, down a ditch, which served 
charge, becoming weary of the as a screen, when to his sudden 
Grant- like, dogged obstinacy of his dismay, looking up, he found a 
adversary, brought up his reserve, Yankee within six feet of him, 
determined to end the fight and with his "piece" at a "ready," 
the foe together. "What, sir," and, apparently, about to blow my 
said he, " did General Washing- friend's brains out. 
ton say? Didn't he say 'put none "Don't shoot!" yelled George, 
but Americans on guard to- springing up; "Don't shoot. I 
night?' " surrender!" 

" What if he did?" said Hardy, j^^ answer from the Yank, and 
" everybody knows he was noth- Qeorge, walking up, found that 
ing but a durned old lory!'' ^^ ^^^ surrendered to a pump. 

It is useless to add that Grandi- 

son was routed. 

In a skirmish near Corinth, 
Thomas McCulloch, a private in 
the regiment of Colonel (after- 
EC. Clanton, 
in the right 

My next is an incident of prison 

It was my fortune to spend the ^^"^^^ General) J. 

last twenty-one months of the war received a wound - 

at that delightful Summer resort, a^^' ^^^^^ «<^ shattered it, that 

and favorite retreat, of Confede- it was plam, amputation would be 

rate officers, known in "the bills necessary. His Colonel, observ- 

of mortality," as Johnson's Is- ing the wound, said to him as he 

land. (And hereby hangeth a tale was retiring, 

which I could unfold, were it in "I am sorry, Tom, that you 

place here, that would startle have lost your best friend." 

some of the sanctimonious and W:ith a smile on his face, the 

sanctified haters of the late "hell- wounded man replied. 


The Haversack. 


"Kever mind, Colonel, it was 
lost in a glorious cause." 

This noble fellow is now living 
in Montgomery, Alabama. 

Captain Owen Finnegan, a gal- 
lant Irishman, now living in 
Mobile, Ala., was the Captain of 
a steamboat on the Alabama river, 
in the days of the Confederacy, 
so-called. After the surrender. 
Captain F. received an order to 
carry down to Mobile, the dead 
bodies of the Federals who fell at 

" I never liked your people 
when alive, and I don't think that 
I will like them any better when 
they are not smelling good," said 
Captain F. in reply to the order. 

In a few hours, a Federal offi- 
cer, with a squad of soldiers, 
came to the steam-boat, and said 
to Captain F., 

"I have come to compel you to 
carry the bodies of the Union sol- 
diers from Selma, to Mobile, as it 
has been reported that you re- 
fused to obey the order." 

Captain Finnegan. "I didn't 
refuse to obey the order. How 
are the bodies to be taken?" 

Federal Officer. "They are all 
in boxes." 

Captain Finnegan. "So far 
from refusing, it would be a great 
satisfaction to me, to carry in 
boxes, the last one of the Yankee 

S. T. F., a late captain in the 
so-named 24th Texas regiment of 
infantry, in the so-called Confed- 
erate army, sends from San An- 
tonio, Texas, the following: 

Shortly after the evacuation of 
Atlanta, Ga., by Hood, and while 

our forces lay on the Atlanta and 
Macon road, it was announced 
that President Davis had arrived 
at Head Quarters, and would soon 
review the army. It was also re- 
ported that the late Governor of 
our beloved Texas was one of his 
Excellency's Staff. 

The day for review arrived and 
the army was displayed in line of 
battle, several hundred yards in 
rear of the breast-works, while 
the reviewing party rode in front. 
The President and Staff approach- 
ed our division, and of course, 
recognized Cleburne's well-known 
flag. The Governor dropped back 
and reined up in front, as he sup- 
posed, of a Texas regiment, but 
he was really before the notorious 
5th Confederate regiment, com- 
posed of all nationalities, but par- 
ticularly of Irish boat-hands and 
railroad employees from Memphis, 
Tennessee and Helena, Arkansas. 
The distinguished civilian raised 
his hat very solemnly and remark- 
ed loud enough to be heard by the 
whole regiment, that he was 

" Governor of Texas, but 

that out of respect to the Presi- 
dent, he did not wish any loud 
cheering or unusual demonstra- 
tion." Whereupon a big speci- 
men of Irish rebeldom cried out in 
a loud voice, " Who the bloody 

h — 11 is Governor of Texas, 

and who the divil cares for ye?" 
There was an unusual demonstra- 
tion, but not exactly of the kind 
expected by the eminent states- 

Colonel J. G. C, of Hunts ville, 
Alabama, gives us the name of 
another hero in the ranks. 

Private Moses Long, of the 


The Haversack, 


19th Alabama regiment, threw a 
burning shell out of the intrench- 
raents, on Kennesaw Mountain, 
during Johnston's retreat from 
Dalton. We wish to preserve a 
record of all such deeds of hero- 

The gallant Colonel gives, also, 
an incident in his own military- 

" The afternoon before the bat- 
tle of Murfreesboro', or Stone 
Kiver, witnessed a terriflc ar- 
tillery duel between the opposing 
armies. Night came on, damp 
and cold, but all fires were for- 
bidden on the advance lines, 
though permitted in the rear. I 
was in command of a brigade, 
and while adjusting my line for 
the night, a member of my Staff 
reported that he had found a 
lime-stone sink where a fire could 
be built, without exposing the 
light. After I had completed the 
arrangements for the night, I 
went to the sink and let myself 
down. It was about eight feet 
deep and ten feet in diameter. 
A match was applied to some dry 
leaves and cedar brush, and I 
soon recognized the smell, and 
soon after the explosion, of a fuse. 
It proved to be a 12-pound 
Schrapnel shell, but by a singular 
protection of Providence, the 
shell itself failed to explode. We 
left the 2:nt.-''> 

The life of the bravest of the 
brave, as well as the truest of the 
true, was thus miraculously pre- 

We suppress the name of the 
principal party in the annexed 
Court Martial incident and give 

a fictitious one to the witness: 
A poor fellow, moved and in- 
stigated by the Father of all mis- 
chief, had Butlerized some prop- 
erty not belonging to himself. — 
He was brought before a Court 
Martial, and having failed to es- 
tablish an alihi^ he next resorted 
to the expedient, so often prac- 
ticed, of proving "previous good 
character." Jerry OTlynn was 
called upon to prove the integrity 
of the Confederate Butler. ISTow 
it so happened that Jerry did not 
know any thing particularly good 
about the accused, and his con- 
science was too tender to permit 
him to swear an untruth to save 
an afflicted friend, though his 
kindness of heart prompted him 
to say all that he could consistent 
with the obligation of his oath. 
He stood, therefore, scratching 
his head with a perplexed air, 
when the prisoner proposed the 
point-blank question : " From 
your previous knowledge of my 
character, don't you believe me 
to be an honest man?" Truth 
and conscience were on one side, 
friendship and good feeling were 
on the other. Jerry was sorely 
puzzled. At length, a bright 
thought seemed to strike him, and 
with a happy smile and relieved 
expression, he exclaimed, "faith, 
an you would be an honest mon, 
Jock, ef there was nothing to 

We sometimes hear even South- 
ern men trying to excuse the di- 
aholism of the Kadicals, upon the 
ground that they mean well and 
are honest in their intentions. At 
such times, Jerry O'Flynn's testi- 
mony will recur to our mind and 
we are constrained to reply, "they 


Tlie Haversack. 


would be honest if there was noth- 
ing to stale 1" 

One of the saddest comments 
upon human consistency was to be 
found in the vast number of Irish 
rebels in the Federal service fight- 
ing against the rebellion, and of 
Germans in the same service, who 
were exiles from home for out- 
break^ against their own govern- 
ment. The rebellion could never 
have been suppressed, had not the 
Federal army been swelled to its 
vast proportions by these foreign 
rebels. Irish rebels in blue uni- 
forms lay thick upon Malvern 
Hill, Marye's Heights, Chickamau- 
ga, and in fact, upon every battle- 
field of the war. They fought 
everywhere with the characteris- 
tic courage of their nation upon 
whatever side they happened to be, 
and with characteristic faithfulness 
to the banner under which they 
had enlisted. When the fortunes 
of war made them prisoners to 
either party, they were treated 
with great kindness by their own 
countrymen in the ranks of the 
conqueror. We have heard one 
of them in our service tell how he 
was saved from starvation in 
that Anderson ville of the "loyal 
Korth," known in Dixie as John- 
son's Island, by the generous ex- 
ertions of one of his own people in 
the Federal ranks. 

Sometimes, however, captors 
and prisoners revived their old re- 
ligious, political or domestic feuds 
and had a regular set-to in the 
old Tipperary style. Col. O., of 
the 4th IsT. C. regiment of infantry 
gives us an incident of the latter 
kind at Manassas, in the first year 
of the war. 

Pat was one of the famous 
Tigers of Wheat's battalion, and 
was well known -for his frequent 
confinement in the guard house, 
at Manassas station, while the 
troops were quartered at that 
point. The confiement seemed to 
have been the result of Pat's 
native fondness for anything, and 
everything, of a stimulating char- 
acter, and which he seems to have 
possessed the faculty of finding 
and obtaining, however faith- 
fully preserved by Surgeons as 
"hospital supplies," or by Com- 
missaries, for "bad weather," 
and "extra duty," and when 
once it was found, all his shrewd- 
ness and cunning were soon ob- 
scured, or forgotten, in a glorious 
state of intoxication. 

On one occasion when our hero 
was paying the penalty for some 
such breach of "good order and 
military discipline," a couple of 
prisoners, who had been captured 
on the picket line, were committed 
to the " Bull-pen," where Pat was 
recounting to a dozen comrades, 
in a most amiable and arhusing 
manner, the adventure which had 
brought upon him his present 
trouble. The cry of " fresh fish!" 
"fresh fish!" attracted his atten- 
tion, as the two new comers, in 
blue blouses, were introduced. 
Pat, who it seems, had been an 
old Tar on the Mississippi river, 
at once recognized an old ac- 
quaintance, with whom he had 
taken many fisticufis, in former 
times, and who had joined the 
other side. 

"Halloo, Mike! you here! and 
its meself that made ye cry 
quarthers minny a time afore, 
and its meself that can do it agin 


The Haversack. 


if ye are not objecting," said Pat 
as he squared himself to receive 
an attack. 

The prisoner replied: 

"Arrah, it's you, is it, you 
blatherin dog, that would be afther 
another licking sich as you got 
afore, when I use to know ye. 
An it's that is it? Thin, by the 
powers, jist let my loving honies 
here, with the grey jackets on, 
clear the deck, and it's Mike 
that'll taich you how to welcome 
a friend." 

With this, he gave the hero of 
the whiskey raids a blow that 
landed him on his back in the 
midst of his companions. 

"Fair play!" "fair play" rose 
from a score of by-standers, and 
in an instant a ring was formed 
for the old acquaintances. Pat 
was on his feet in an instant, and 
returned his friend's greeting in a 
most cordial manner, and at it 
they went in the most professional 
style. Por full ten minutes the 
conflict raged, the result seemed 
doubtful, and more than once 
Mike's friends (a dozen of whom 
had been previously captured) 
raised a shout of triumph, as the 
contest seemed to be in his favor, 
but at length he roared, "take 
'im off, take 'im oflf ! 1 surrender, 
I give up, and by my soul, I'll 
niver harm a hair of your head 
agin, and will iver call ye the 
politest gintleman in all Tippera- 

A Chaplain sends us, from Lex- 
ington, Virginia, the anecdote be- 

Your incident of the race be- 
tween the "Big Preach," and the 
" Little Preach " reminded me of 

an incident which occurred at 
Cedar Eun Mountain, and in 
which your correspondent must 
confess to have been an active 
participant. Just as a certain 
brigade was going into action, the 
Chaplains and Surgeons belong- 
ing to it rode up on a high hill, on 
the flank, which commanded a 
splendid view of the field. They 
were enjoying the grand pano- 
rama, not a little, when a Yankee 
battery came into position, and — 
perhaps mistaking the party for 
some General and his Stafl;' — 
opened on us with four pieces. 
The missiles came shrieking 
through the air, falling danger- 
ously near; we unanimously con- 
cluded that we "had no business 
there," and, accordingly, left, 
without "considering the order 
of our going." One of the Sur- 
geons had a negro boy, mounted 
on a fine horse, who led the party 
to the cover of the hill. When 
the Doctor came up with him, he 
began to abuse him for being so 
much frightened, and for riding 
his horse so hard. The boy meek- 
ly replied: 

" I didn't like the whizzing of 
them things any better than the 
rest did— and I don't think you 
ought to' blame me. Doctor, 'cause 
my horse can beat yours run- 

An explosion followed, for it 
was evident that the Doctor, as 
well as the rest of us, made the 
best time he could. 

Col. M. T. P. sends from Boli- 
var, Tennessee, the incident be- 

I send you an account of an ac- 
tual fact, showing with what dread 




the children and women regarded 
the troops of the United States, 
who "occupied" this District. In 
1863, this town was under com- 
mand of a dirty scoundrel from 
Springfield, Illinois, named Bray- 
man, who disgraced the uniform 
of a Brigadier General, U. S. A., 
and whose command did unlimi- 
ted stealing. My neighbor's three- 
year old girl, talking to her moth- 
er, said, "Mamma, will General 
Brayman and his Yankees go to 

"I hope so, my daughter," re 
plied the mother. 

Little blue eyes exclaimed "Oh! 
mamma, please don't let them, I 
am afraid they will steal God!" 

You can judge the mother's 
feeling when the child expressed 
her little feeling, and upon my 
word Brayman deserved the dread 
of the child. 

During the campaign of Gen- 
eral Early, in the Valley of Vir- 
ginia in 1864, and while his army 
was in position on Fisher's Hill, 
near the town of Strasburg, the 
Federals made a flank movement 
across North Mountain, thereby 
turning General E.'s left, which 
caused a general stampede on the 
right and centre. 

During the confusion, amid the 
bursting of shells and rattle of 
musketry. General E. was endeav- 
oring to rally his men, when a 
slightly demoralized reb came 
running by the General, minus 
hat or gun, and in reply to the 
General's order to rally, exclaim- 
ed, " how in the h — 11 can a man 
rally without a hat or gun?" 

G. B. M. 

Trion Factory, Ga. 


We have all along based our 
opposition to the Eeconstruction 
Bill, upon the ground that it puts 
the life and property of the South 
at the mercy and control of igno- 
rant and irresponsible negroes, 
who must necessarily become the 
dupes of the vilest and basest of 
mankind. Nothing has so ef- 
fectually demonstrated the utter 
unfitness of the negroes to exer- 
cise the elective franchise, as the 
selections they have made of can- 
didates for office. They have 
chosen as their champions, negro- 

traders, slave-drivers of the most 
brutal type, or men whose life- 
record had been hatred of the 
Union. The trafficker in flesh 
and blood, the brutal master and 
Yankee hater are now the stand- 
ard bearers for " the man and 
brother." Hunnicutt, of Virginia, 
embodies in his own proper per- 
son, the three qualifications, 
which seem to be the most popular 
with the deluded negroes. Hol- 
den, of North Carolina, is a life- 
long nullifier and secessionist. 
He raised a hue and cry against 




Professor Hedrick, of the Uni- 
versity of North Carolina, and 
had him driven out of the State, 
for advocating Fremont for the 
Presidency. He succeeded in 
banishing H. H. Helper for a 
similar offence. He signed, with 
his own gold pen, the Ordinance 
of Secession, which took JSTorth 
Carolina out of the Union, wiped 
the pen carefully and said " that 
he intended to leave it as an heir- 
loom in his family." He, for 
weeks and months, declared, 
through his paper, his "unalter- 
able opposition to negro suffrage, " 
This man is now the negro candi- 
date for Governor of North Caro- 
lina ! ! All the negro pets in the 
State are men of precisely the 
same type. 

The Raleigh Begister, a "truly 
loyal" Eadical paper, published 
at the Capital of the State, gives 
the following pen-and-ink sketch 
of the negro leaders : 

W. W. Hoi den is a disfran- 
chised traitor, by the laws of the 
United States, and he could not 
take his seat if elected. 

He has also declared that his 
object in wishing to stop the war 
was to "scire slavery,''^ He has 
declared, since the war, that op- 
position to negro suffrage was the 
most conspicuous of "Union land- 
marks." He tried, during the 
war, it is said, to put his negroes 
into money. 

D. A. Jenkins, of Gaston, is 
the Holden candidate for Public 
Treasurer. He was a notorious 
slave driver and negro trader, and 
is " charged with having hung a 
negro woman by the neck until 

Samuel W. Watts, of Martin, is 
the Holden candidate for' Judge 
in the Sixth District. He was in 
Franklin county, during the war, 

hunting fugitive negroes icith 

John Y. Sherard, of "Wayne, 
is the Holden candidate for Solici- 
tor in that District. Col. Jenkins 
states, in his public speeches, that, 
when he was Attorney General, 
he prosecuted Sherard, in John- 
ston Superior Court, for '■'■lohip^ying 
an old negro man to death, and 
convicted him o£ manslaughter.''^ 

This is a precious picture! The 
man who drove Prof. Hedrick out 
of the State, (though one of the 
most gifted and patriotic men in 
it) on account of very mild anti- 
slavery views, is now the adored 
idol of the negro race, in North 

The negro pet, in South Caro- 
lina, was banished from all decent 
society, in Columbia, for his 
brutality to his negroes. We 
have heard one of the most prom- 
inent citizens in that State re- 
late a most revolting instance of 
this fiend's cruelty. His joining 
the negro party is due to his 
hatred of respectable people, for 
the contempt with which they 
treated him, on account of his 
outrageous treatment of his ne- 

In Georgia, the man most con- 
fided in, by this ignorant class, 
next to Brown and Bullock, was 
once an overseer, noted for his 
heartless severity. The loyal 
Governor Brown, himself, is the 
very same individual, who ordered 
the seizure of Port Pulaski, on 
the 3d Jan., 1861, some weel:s he- 
fore the Secession of Georgia. He 
was so extreme in his zeal for the 
Southern cause, that he could not 
wait for the action of his State. 
With the same hot zeal, he seized, 
in the Port of Savannah, private 




yessels belonging to parties in the 
North. But he is now a loyal 
man, because he favors negro 
equality; while Ben Hill, who al- 
ways opposed Secession, is brand- 
ed as a traitor. Truly, we have 
fallen upon strange times! 

In Alabama, the negro idols ai'e 
of the same class as in the four 
States alluded to. We learn 
from the Metropolitan Record 
that General Jas. H. Clanton, of 
Montgomery, had an interview 
with General Meade, in which he 
gave full-length portraits of the 
negro leaders in that city, which 
have their counterparts in every 
city, town and village of the 

Gen. M. — I have been informed 
that armed white men waylaid 
and deterred negroes from going 
to the polls. 

Gen. C. — Gen. Meade, I pro- 
nounce your informants liars and 
scoundrels, and am responsible, 
personally and every other way, 
for what I say. The frauds were 
against, and not by the Conserva- 
tives. I cannot give you a better 
idea of the character of the white 
Radicals in Alabama who man- 
aged the recent election, than by 
informing you who they were in 
this city. At one box, " Nor- 
cross," not a citizen of Alabama, 
but of Pennsylvania, and corres- 
pondent of Forney's Press, pre- 
sided. He is a brother-in-law of 
Keffer, who is candidate for Com- 
missioner of Internal Resources 
in this State, and don't claim a 
vote here. The second box was 
presided over by one John Cloud, a 
most notorious character for his 
age. The third year of the war, 
when only about fifteen or sixteen 
years of age, and not liable. to 
conscription, he volunteered and 
joined my brigade, and was mus- 
tered into the service of the Con- 

federate States, taking a solemn 
oath to defend and bear true al- 
legiance to the same. He remained 
in the company to which he was 
attached until he was driven out 
of camp for being guilty of all 
manner of villainy, such as ob- 
taining money under false pre- 
tences, stealing from his mess- 
mates, &c. Passing himself off 
as an officer, he traveled through 
Georgia, living by his villainies. 
Pie was published in the newspa- 
pers of the State as a most noto- 
rious scoundrel and swindler, 
which charges were uncontradict- 
ed by him or his friends, if he had 
any. I can prove him to be a 
thief by men in this city who 
were born North, who reside here 
and were Union men during the 
war. As manager of the election, 
he took the iron- clad oath, I sup- 
pose, with impunity. A brother 
ofhis, whowas in the Confeder- 
ate army as a volunteer, was a 
manager of another box. I heard 
the former, while acting as man- 
ager, haranguing the negroes 
around the polls, and advising 
them how to vote. I have it 
from good authority that he took 
votes out of negroes' hands which 
did not have "Constitution" upon 
them, and substituted others. — 
The father of these young men 
was an enthusiastic Confederate, 
and a surgeon in the army, though 
past the conscript age. He was 
the Radical candidate for Super- 
intendent of Education in the re- 
cent election. At a third box, 
one Wynu presided as manager, 
who, from the best information 
I can obtain, is a robber. Since 
the war, I am informed, he was 
one of a band who at midnight 
went to the house of an old citi- 
zen about seventy- five years of 
age, residing near Wetumpka, 
Ala., and hung him to the joist by 
the neck until life was nearly ex- 
tinct, to extort from him gold, 
which was supposed to be hid 
about his place. His stepfather. 




was also a Kadical candidate at 
the recent election. If such men, 
General Meade, were selected and 
permitted to manage the election 
in such a city as Montgomery, 
how must it have been in the in- 

The negro idols in Florida, 
Mississippi, Louisiana, Arkansas 
and Texas, all have a similar rec- 
ord. They are, with few ex- 
ceptions, Yankees of the Bureau 
school of corruption (and the 
world has never had a worse in 
any period of its history,) or when 
Southern-born they are old negro 
traders, brutal masters or fire- 
eaters of the most ferocious type. 
Banished from decent society be- 
cause of their brutality, or disap- 
pointed in their hopes of political 
preferment, they hate, with a 
bitter hatred, the culture, the re- 
finement and the virtue of the 
land of their nativity, and seek to 
drag down to their own level, 
those of better birth and purer 
morals. Hence, they have natu- 
rally sought an alliance with an 
ignorant race, who are easily de- 
ceived and betrayed. 

Starting out with uttering a 
known falsehood about the inse- 
curity of life and property at the 
South, the Keconstruction Bill has 
developed an amount of baseness, 
which the world had hitherto sup- 
posed t^ be impossible, in a civil- 
ized nation. So much bungliag, 
too, has been shown in the pro- 
visions of the Bill, and so little 
skill in its details, that the Sa- 
traps have been constrained to 
proclaim Conventions to be called, 
which had been defeated, and 
Constitutions to be accepted, 
which had been rejected. But for 

the active exertions of the milita- 
ry commanders, the whole thing 
would have been a farce and a 
failure in all of the ten States. — 
Policy required that those alone 
should be counted in opposition, 
who took a decided stand against 
Keconstruction, but by a singular 
blunder, the most efficient way 
to defeat the iniquitous scheme 
was to do nothing at all. There is 
nothing which the "loyal North" 
so much despises as want of cute- 
ness, and the Radicals have spe- 
cially plumed themselves upon the 
possession of that delectable quali- 
ty. But, surely, they showed a 
great lack of this essential element 
of wicked success, when they fail- 
ed to frame the Bill, so that all 
not voting against it should be 
counted as endorsing it. The 
Alabama Constitution was lost by 
this stupid mistake. The Report 
of the Committee sets forth pite- 
ously that there was a big rain on 
the day of election, which kept 
thousands away from the polls, 
while ignoring the fact that the 
election lasted five days. We 
are not surprised at the in- 
sinuated falsehood in the Re- 
port; that was in keeping with 
the celebrated Preamble to the 
Bill. But we are surprised at the 
Jacobins for not adopting the good 
old rule of "silence gives consent." 
Still better, they might have re- 
quired the negroes to continue 
to vote day by day, until the 
elections were carried. Or still 
better, they might have required 
the military commanders to re- 
port them as carried. A little tact 
and management would have 
saved them a world of trouble and 
annoyance. It is melancholy to 




reflect how much perjury has been 
necessary to counter-balance this 
want of tact, how witnesses have 
been compelled to swear • that the 
rivers of Alabama were choked up 
with ice! and how a poor negro 
on his way to the polls was crush- 
ed by an iceberg I 

His Majesty (we'll not name 
him) must have been greatly 
grieved at the want of cunning in 
his children. He himself is dis- 
tinguished for his subtlety (Gen- 
esis III, 1,) and he has a right to ex- 
pect the same characteristic in his 

But if the provisions of the 
Bill show want of address and 
cunning, the whole Bill itself be- 
trays want of wisdom and states- 
manship. There is no folly like 
the folly of temporary expediency. 
The Jacobins, in the hope of 
present gain of strength to their 
party, by the negro vote, jeopar- 
dize the very interests which they 
wish to subserve. The negro is 
not too low in the scale of intelli- 
gence to learn that the cotton tax 
is an injury to him, that the 
tariff is an injury to him, that the 
bounty on fish is an injury to him, 
that the restriction on the coast- 
trade is an injury to him, and 
that the interest on the bonds of 
the Grovernment is an injury to 
him. In less than five years, he 
will be a repudiator, and a violent 
opponent to the whole New Eng- 
land policy of selfish aggrandize- 
ment. The most prominent fea- 
ture, in all the Constitutions 
framed by the Fetich Conventions, 
is that of repudiation — the so- 
called measures of Belief. They 
expect by this one provision alone, 
to array on their side the bank- 

rupt, the insolvent, the dishonest 
and the baser sort. Can it be ex- 
pected that men, who have tasted 
the sweets of relief at home, will 
be willing to wear burdens 
abroad? The Jacobins are not 
merely playing with edged tools, 
they have actually made and then 
sharpened the tools for their 
wicked sport! They lack wisdom, 
they lack statesmanship, they 
lack even cunning. Surely, their 
great Progenitor has reason to be 
ashamed of them! 

The Hon. Charles Sumner was, 
probably, at no time a very ami- 
able man. But he has been so 
soured by the chastisement in- 
flicted by Brooks, and the deser- 
tion of his beautiful wife, that 
every utterance is now a sneer, or 
a sarcasm. His last fling at 
General Grant is peculiarly un- 
kind. " We must have a stable 
Government," says he, in his 
bitter, ironical matter. This 
thrust at the hero of fast trotters 
and "horse-talk" is very un- 
gracious at this juncture of af- 

A Singular Mistake. — The 
Hon. Thad. Stevens, in July last, 
thus taunted the Kepublicans in 

He begged the House to con- 
sider that the Senate was several 
furlongs behind the House in the 
march of reform — perhaps he 
ought to say Eadicalism. Sena- 
tors were coming up sidelong, but 
had not yet got quite squarely up. 
What he had just mentioned was 
an illustration of that. Some 
fragments of the old shattered 
Constitution had struck, perhaps, 
the kidneys of some of the Sena- 



[May, 1868. 

tors (laughter,) and troubled them 
at night. When they tried to 
progress, the ghost of the past 
Constitution was found in their 
way, and obstructed them. 

It is always expected of great 
Parliamentary leaders to know 
the temper, disposition, and moral 
character of their followers. — 
Walpole, Chatham, Fox, Pitt, 
Peel, Palmerston— have all been 
distinguished in that way. Our 
own Clay, Calhoun, Webster, 
Benton, &e,, have shown equal 
skill in understanding the men 
with whom they had to deal. 
How then is it that Mr. Stevens 
has fallen into the singular de- 
lusion, that his party would be 
troubled with any scruples of con- 
science about violating the Con- 
stitution? Nothing in their past 
history can warrant such an ab- 
surdity. jSTothing in their mor- 
al character can justify such 
a wild assumption. Is Mr. 
Stevens, then, really ignorant 
of his party? We are too 
charitable to entertain such an 
opinion, and make such a reflec- 
tion upon his shrewdness. This 
unjust taunt to the men of great 
moral ideas was, doubtless, due to 
a momentary out-burst of temper, 
(to which he is subject) and which 
may have been caused by think- 
ing about his property in that 
furnace which the rebels burned, 
or his property in that other burn- 
ing furnace, which the rebels are 

not disposed to dispossess him of. 

We observe in our esteemed and 
highly valued contemporary, the 

Chronicle and Sentinel, of Augus- 
ta, Ga., the following significant 

To Our Subscribers. — Steal- 
ing money from the Postal De- 
partment has become so frequent, 
that we are compelled thus pub- 
licly to warn our subscribers, not 
to send any more money by mail 
without a money order. If this 
cannot be procured, have the let- 
ters registered in every instance. 
Whenever convenient send it to 
us by express. 

We had supposed that the P. 
O. Department had as efficient 
blockaders around the Port of 
Augusta as in any other part of 
the world, and that it was as dif- 
ficult for an adventurous green- 
back to run the gauntlet there as 
it was possible to be elsewhere. 
But as the Head of the blockading 
squadron has turned his atten- 
tion towards the Capitol of the 
nation, we had hoped that there 
would have been a relaxation of 

To Contributors.— No seri- 
als, or articles of such length as 
to require division, need be sent 
by voluntary contributors. Our 
arrangements have been com- 
pleted for the Poetic Department, 
and we will confine ourselves to 
regular contributors. 


No. II. 

JUNE, 1868. 

Vol. V. 


Although the writer had 
learned to place the highest esti- 
mate on the character of General 
Daniel, before its greater develop- 
ment during the progress of hos- 
tilities,he greatly fears that he must 
fail in presenting it to the reader, 
in all that excellence which was so 
manifest to himself, as it could 
he properly appreciated only by 
those who were intimately ac- 
quainted therewith, and had thus 
the opportunity of knowing the 
principles and motives which 
entered into its formation. The 
record of his military life is but 
the history of the most unselfish 
devotion to the cause which he 
espoused, and which was so dear 
to his heart. From the time he 
volunteered in the struggle of the 
South for independence, until he 
received his death wound, his en- 
tire action, all his aims and as- 
pirations, were concentrated on 
one object — the deliverance of his 
country. A simple narrative of 
facts will best attest the truth of 
this assertion. 

VOL. Y. NO. II. 

General Daniel was the young- 
est child, and last surviving issue 
of the Hon. J. R. J. Daniel. He 
was born in the town of Halifax, 
K. C.,on the 27th day of June,1828, 
and at the age of three years, met 
with the irreparable loss of an 
admirable mother. His youth 
was passed at the best prepara- 
tory schools, and through life he 
acted upon the principle, so con- 
stantly impressed upon him, in 
his early training, " An utter ab- 
horrence of lying, dishonesty, 
and every low and degrading 
vice." About the year 1843, he 
entered the excellent school of 
J. M. Lovejoy, Esq., at Raleigh, 
and there remained until admitted 
to the Military Academy, at 
West Point, in 1846, as one of the 
Cadets at large, under the ap- 
pointment of President Polk. 
Whilst engaged there in artillery 
practice, the gun carriage to 
which he was attached was upset, 
and the gun thrown upon him, in- 
flicting a severe spinal injury. 
His course, retarded one year by 



Sketch of General Junius Daniel. 


this accident, was completed in 
1851, with a highly respectable 
standing for deportment and 

He entered West Point with 
the bona fide purpose of giving 
his services to the country, as a 
soldier. When he graduated, he 
was ordered, after the usual fur- 
lough, to Newport, Kentucky, as 
acting assistant Quarter-master. 
In the fall of 1852, he went in 
charge of a company, or de- 
tachment, to ISTew Mexico, where 
he remained four years, stationed, 
successively, at Forts Albuquer- 
que, Fillmore, and Stanton, 
spending his time in charge of 
scouting and exploring parties, 
in ascertaining the topography of 
the country, and in keeping in 
subjection, the Indians, with 
whom he had many skirmishes. 

In the early part of 1857, he re- 
turned from New Mexico. His 
father having purchased a large 
body of land in Louisiana, he 
was induced to resign his com- 
mission in the army for the pur- 
pose of aiding in its cultivation 
and improvement. In this new 
sphere, he exerted himself with 
great energy and effect, reducing 
his scientific knowledge to practi- 
cal tests. He always insisted that 
the education obtained at West 
Point, or the pursuit of a similar 
course of studies, is much better 
adapted to ensure success in the 
actual aflairs of life than one con- 
fined principally to the classics; 
experience, it would seem, con- 
firms this testimony. 

In October, 1860, he married 
Ellen, a lovely and accomplished 
young lady, daughter of John J. 
Long, Esq., of ISTorthampton Co., 

N. C, and immediately returned 
to his plantation in Louisiana, 
where he was engaged, devoting 
his energies to agriculture, when 
"Sumter fell." 

Upon the inauguration of hos- 
tilities, he was offered a position 
among the Louisiana troops, but 
preferring to serve in his own State 
he hastened hither, and tendered 
his service to Gov. Ellis. That 
devoted son of the South highly 
appreciated his worth, but there 
was no position vacant commen- 
surate with his abilities. General 
Daniel was no politician ; he had 
never interfered in mere party 
contests, but he was an ardent 
supporter of the Constitution of 
the United States, as he under- 
stood it; and in drawing his sword 
for the Southern Cause, he believ- 
ed that he was defending the, now 
obsolete, principles enunciated in 
that instrument. Nor was he 
misled by the enthusiasm of the 
day. He despised alike the va- 
poring of those at the Korth who 
professed their ability to conquer 
the South in ninety days, and the 
rhodomontade of such among our- 
selves as prophesied a bloodless 
victory. He clearly foresaw the 
nature of the coming contest, fre- 
quently predicting to his friends 
and the writer the long and terri- 
bly exhausting struggle before us. 

In tendering his services to his 
country, General Daniel was free 
from personal ambition. He had 
no selfish ends to gratify. He 
had no children. Yet, at the 
very first hostile movement, he 
tore himself away from a home 
filled with every other endear- 
ment that can touch the heart of 
man, and with the hope of no 


Sketch of General Junius Daniel. 


other reward, than the satisfac- 
tion arising from duty performed. 
Such, indeed, was his determined 
patriotism, he would then have 
entered the service had it been 
revealed to him, that the first 
step would be to his grave. 

Immediately after the tender of 
his services to G-overnor Ellis, he 
was elected colonel of the 4th, 
afterwards 14th, regiment North 
Carolina volunteers, with which 
he remained until nearly the ex- 
piration of its twelve months' 
service. He was then elected to 
the colonelcy of the 43d and 45th 
regiments, both of which had en- 
listed for the war, and, about the 
same time, was tendered, by Gov. 
Clark, that of the 2nd North 
Carolina cavalry. In accepting 
the command of the 45th, he 
showed, as in all other matters, 
the utmost disinterestedness, de- 
clining that of the 43d, which had 
several companies from his own 
county, in favor of a promising 
young officer, who had given de- 
cided evidence of ability, and 
that of the 2nd cavalry, in favor 
of Colonel Sol. Williams, saying, 
with the frankness of the true 
soldier: "Williams is a better 
man, for he is, par excellence, a 
cavalry man, so put him there." 

The writer has received inter- 
esting accounts of Gen. Daniel's 
military career, from officers who 
served with him, and had re- 
solved to incorporate them in 
this sketch, but the limits of a 
magazine article compel him to 
forego that pleasure, and he must 
content .himself with this ac- 
knowledgment, and a synopsis of 
their contents. 

As an organizer and disciplina- 

rian. General Daniel had no supe- 
rior, and the troops which had re- 
ceived the benefit of his training, 
especially the 43rd and 45th regi- 
ments, were never known to fal- 
ter, or even to hesitate, whilst un- 
der his command; and they re- 
tained their esprit du corps through- 
out the gloomiest days of the Con- 
federacy. He first served as 
colonel of the 45 th, under General 
Holmes ; in a few days that offi- 
cer discovered his fine qualities as 
a soldier, and recommended him 
for promotion, asking that he 
might be assigned to duty under 
himself. The Government, how- 
ever, had been so very liberal in 
rewarding politicians, that it had 
more brigadiers than brigades, so 
the application was denied; but 
an officer of that grade was ten- 
dered to General Holmes, who de- 
clined his services, saying: " You 
can keep your generals, I can get 
along with my colonels." From 
this period until he received his 
commission as brigadier, he served 
under three different department- 
al commanders, each of whom 
urged his promotion at head- 
quarters, and, failing to secure it, 
refused to turn his command over 
to general officers. He organized 
three brigades, two of which were 
taken from him, and given to 
" Generals without a command." 
The third he commanded for 
twelve months as senior colonel, 
and when it was rumored that 
this too was about to be assigned 
to another, he did not complain 
of the government, but simply re- 
marked to one of his officers: " I 
would certainly dislike to give up 
the command of these troops, now 
that I have had all the trouble of 


Sketch of General Junius Daniel. 


training them, and have become 
attached to them. I do not seek 
the distinction of rank for position 
merely, for were the war to close 
to-morrow, the offer of the high- 
est could not induce me to remain 
in the army. I have other obli- 
gations to fulfill; but whilst this 
war lasts, here in the field will I 
be found — my whole soul is in the 
cause, and my life is at my coun- 
try's service. If the government 
does not choose to give me com- 
mand of my brigade, I will stick 
to my regiment and make no com- 

About June, 1862, commanding 
his brigade as senior colonel, he 
was ordered to Petersburg under 
General Holmes. Although not 
actually engaged in the field dur- 
ing this period, an incident occur- 
red too characteristic of the man 
to be omitted. It is thus related 
by an eye witness. 

" At the battle of Malvern Hill, 
our brigade was on the extreme 
right of the line, and, although 
not actually brought into action, 
was exposed to, a converging fire 
from three points, vastly more 
trying to troops than actual fight- 
ing. On one flank, in full view, 
at a distance of about a third of a 
mile, three gun-boats, lying in 
the James Kiver, were playing 
upon us with shell, two parks of 
artillery, one from the famous 
Malvern Hill battery, were throw- 
ing their missiles into oiir ranks. 
Our troops were raw, few of them 
had ever before been under fire. 
Just at this time some cavalry, 
which had been sent to the front, 
came dashing down the road in 
disgraceful haste, riding down all 
who did not get out of their way. 

Immediately some artillery, for a 
cause never explained, acted in 
like manner, and the danger of a 
general panic was evident. Gen. 
Daniel almost instantly threw a 
regiment across the road, halted 
a piece of artillery, placing it in 
command of an officer who after- 
wards won his spurs, and ordered 
him to fire upon all who did not 
halt. This prompt action restor- 
ed order so speedily, that the con- 
fusion was unknown to any other 
part of the army. Whilst thus 
engaged, his horse was shot under 
him, and he had a very narrow 

In October, 1862, General Dan- 
iel was commissioned as a briga- 
dier. He was assigned the 32nd 
regiment, commanded by Brabble, 
who was killed at Spotsylvania, 
then by Cowand; the 43rd, by 
Keenan, wounded and captured 
at Gettysburg, afterwards by 
Gary Whitaker, killed in the last 
days at Petersburg; the 45th, first 
by Morehead, who died at Mar- 
tinsljurg, Va., then by Boyd, who 
was wounded and captured at 
Gettysburg, exchanged and killed 
at Spotsylvania; the 53rd, by 
Owens, killed at Winchester, and 
the 2nd N. C. battalion, by Lieut. 
Colonel Andrews, killed at Get- 
tysburg. What a sad record, and 
how eloquently it speaks to our 
hearts of the bravery of those de- 
voted men! By impugning the 
memory of all such, some among 
us may earn an unenviable noto- 
riety, but it is not in these days 
of calamity and humiliation, we 
can cease to venerate their hero- 
ism. Even should the despotism 
to which we are now consigned 
become the permanent condition 

1868.] Sketch of General Junius Daniel. 101 

of the country, the spirit of the never exacted of others and 

South shall never utterly sink, spared himself ; frequently, when 

while she looks back with redeem- in command of the division, has 

ing pride upon " the martyr he been seen, at midnight, at the 

band," whose glorious achieve- utmost limits thereof, seeing for 

ments will be to her for a testimo- himself, that his instructions were 

ny, that her bondage did not arise being properly carried out. At 

from any want in her people of first, both officers and men chafed 

those high qualities, which give under his rule; but when it be- 

victory and freedom. came manifest that he was actuated 

It is somewhat remarkable, and solely by a sense of the responsi- 

is, perhaps, the highest evidence bility resting upon him, when 

of General Daniel's capacity, that, his rigid impartiality, and high 

at this period, no officer of his sense of honor, became known, 

grade, had acquired a higher when his brigade was seen to 

reputation for soldierly qualities, move under fire with the same 

although he had had no oppor- accuracy as if on parade, he 

tunity to distinguish himself in gained the hearts of all. Indeed, 

the field. He excelled, in many he was singularly gifted with the 

things essential to a great com- power of securing the warmest 

mander. " Keticence, " says one attachment, and the highest con- 

of his officers, "he possessed, in fidence of his subordinates, as 

an eminent degree, vigilance also, testimonials, in the writer's pos- 

I regarded it as impossible for session, amply prove. This has 

him to be surprised, and on one always been considered as a high 

occasion, particularly, I know merit, in some of the greatest 

that the wing of the army to commanders, 

which he belonged, was saved Had he seconded the applica- 

from disaster thereby. Well tions of his superiors in rank, by 

might the lamented Eodes so his personal efforts, or by those 

often exclaim, during the Valley of his friends outside of the 

<;ampaign, ' Oh if Daniel were army, he would, doubtless, have 

only here now!' " speedily attained higher promo- 

In attention to the wants of tion, but he scorned all this as 
his men, in a thorough acquaint- beneath the dignity of a true 
ance with details, in his ability as soldier. The writer has been in- 
an organizer and disciplinarian, formed, upon good authority, 
as already stated, and in his that, at the time of his death, his 
skill in handling troops under commission as Major General 
fire, as proved at Gettysburg and was made out, a tribute solely to 
Spotsylvania, he was equal to any his merits. Singleness of pur- 
man in the army of Northern pose characterized all his actions 
Virginia. From the very first, to the very last. Believing the 
he saw the necessity of disci- South to be right, the voice of 
pline, and required from officers patriotism and the sense of duty 
and men, the strictest attention urged him to subordinate all his 
to duty. He never relaxed, powers to the effort for her sue- 


Sketch of General Junius Daniel. 


cess. Hence, he never even mur- 
mured at that severest trial of 
the deserving military man, the 
placing of persons inferior in 
ability and service, over his head. 
On some reference being made to 
this subject, he remarked to the 
"writer: "The promotion of 
others does not excite in me 
either envy or discontent. I care 
not who receives the honors, pro- 
vided we gain the light." 

General Daniel spent the Fall 
of 1862, with his brigade, at 
Drewry's Bluff. In December of 
that year, he was ordered to 
Korth Carolina, under command 
of General D. H. Hill, to meet a 
diversion of Foster, in favor of 
Burnside. Here he received, 
from one of his regiments, the 
significant sobriquet of " Old 
Blockhouse," which he ever after- 
wards retained. Shortly after 
the battle of Chancellorsville, he 
was transferred to Lee's army, 
Eodes' division, attached to 
Ewell's corps, during the Penn- 
sylvania campaign, the division 
being the advance column. At 
that time. General Ewell had, as 
his head- quarters' fiag, the only 
regular Confederate flag in the 
command. When Carlisle, the 
extreme point of the advance, 
was reached, General Ewell made 
a speech to his men, congratula- 
ting them on their successes, mili- 
tary bearing, and subordination, 
then, turning to Daniel's brigade, 
but recently attached to his corps, 
he said: "They had shown them- 
selves so obedient to all orders, so 
steady and regular in their march, 
and so well disciplined, that he 
entrusted to them the charge of 
bearing the 'corps flag,' confident 

that its honor could never sufier 
while in keeping of such troops." 

The writer has in his posses- 
sion, General Daniel's report of 
the movements of his brigade 
during this period. It is an ad- 
mirable paper, and may yet be 
published as a valuable contribu- 
tion to the history of the cam- 
paign. The following extract, 
referring to its action in the battle 
of Gettysburg, is all that can be 
inserted here: 

"I cannot, in justice to the 
ofiicers and men of my command, 
close, this portion of my report 
without recording my earnest con- 
viction that the conduct, of none 
of the troops who participated in 
this engagement, will furnish 
brighter examples of patient en- 
durance than were exhibited by 
them. Entering the fight on the 
first day at 1 P. M., and hotly en- 
gaged until 4 P. M., constantly 
driving before them a superior 
force of the enemy, and losing 
nearly one-third of their number 
and many valuable ofiicers. Ex- 
posed, during the afternoon of the 
second day, to a galling fire of 
artillery, from which they suf- 
fered much, they moved at 
night, in line of battle, on the 
enemy's strong position, after 
which, with less than two hours' 
rest, and having made a fatiguing 
night march, they reported to- 
General Johnson, and entered 
the fight again at 5 A. M. on the 
third day, and were not with- 
drawn until between three and 
four in the afternoon — their skir- 
mishers remaining engaged until 
12 at night, and the whole line 
being constantly exposed to, 
and sufiering from, the enemy's 


Sketch of General Junius Daniel. 


fire. Shortly after 12 at night, 
they were required to repeat the 
march of the preceding night, 
and to re-occupy the position 
from which they had driven the 
enemy on the first day. Nor was 
there exhibited, by any portion of 
the command, during the three 
days in which they were engaged, 
any disposition to shrink from 
the duties before them, or any in- 
dication of that despondency with 
which men, similarly exposed, are 
often affected." 

The conduct of Gen. Daniel at 
Gettysburg, the first real oppor- 
tunity he had had to display his 
ability in handling troops under 
fire, won for him the very highest 
place in the estimation of his fel- 
low soldiers of every rank. His 
brigade never faltered for a mo- 
ment upon that disastrous field, 
but moved under the direction of 
its leader, with the precision of 
clock work. This is well attested 
by the declaration of Gen. Kam- 
seur, an honored rival. Keferring 
to the first day's battle, when the 
brigade lost over six hundred 
men, " I watched," said he, " the 
corps flag, and I never saw 
troops move with more precision 
on parade, than the troops who 
bore it, when ordered to change 
their position under the full fire 
of the enemy." No higher enco- 
mium could have been passed up- 
on officers and men. The friends 
of General Daniel, both in the 
army and out of it, were greatly 
chagrined at his failure to receive 
that promotion which he so emi- 
nently deserved. During the re- 
treat. General Daniel, in com- 
mand of the " rear guard" of 
the army, acted with admirable 

skill, coolness and discretion. 

The space already occupied, 
compels the writer to pass, at 
once, over the intervening period, 
to the closing scene — the battles 
of the Wilderness and of Spotsyl- 
vania Court House. The follow- 
ing statement is based upon the 
authority of gentlemen of the 
highest sense of honor, who were 
eye witnesses of the events refer- 
red to. 

The morning of May 5th, 1864, 
was, perhaps, the proudest mo- 
ment of Gen. Daniel's military 
life. He was then in reserve, 
supporting the Stonewall brigade. 
Doles' Ga., Battle's Ala., and J. 
M. Jones' Va. brigades. General 
Jones was killed, and all gave 
way before the charge of the ene- 
my. At this critical moment, 
' ' when to hesitate was to be lost, " 
he appeared the very impersona- 
tion of heroism. Of fine personal 
appearance, admirably propor- 
tioned, vigorous, muscular, and 
singularly erect, seeming to have 
increased in stature, his fine grey 
eye flashing fire, he appealed to 
his brigade by name, in that sten- 
torian, sonorous voice, which 
could animate the most timid, 
and was now heard loud above 
the din of battle: "Attention, 
Daniel's North Carolina brigade, 
forward, charge!" The advance 
of the enemy was almost instantly 
checked, and they were driven in 
a steady retreat. Their officers 
rallied them in a gully about three 
feet deep, forming an excellent 
substitute for a breast- work, and 
right across Daniel's line. At the 
approach of his men, they arose 
and fired almost in their very fa- 
ces, then resumed their retreat. 


Sketch of General Junius Daniel. 


Daniel halted his line, dressed it, 
fired by rank at the word of 
command, then charged. Gen- 
eral Gordon, having taken the 
enemy on the flank about the 
same time, the rout was complete, 
and the slaughter very great. 

To General Gordon is, general- 
ly, attributed the credit of re- 
trieving the fortunes of the day, 
on this occasion, whilst General 
Daniel is, rarely, if ever, mention- 
ed in connection therewith. It is 
very difficult to reconcile con- 
flicting accounts from the battle- 
field, but the evidence, both ver- 
bal and written, which has been 
presented to the writer, warrants 
him in insisting on all that he has 
claimed in this matter for General 
Daniel. Were it not for his 
prompt and decisive action, we 
must, in all probability, have 
chronicled an inglorious defeat 
instead of a great victory. 

On the night of the 5th, 
Daniel's brigade was moved to the 
extreme right of the line, and was 
almost constantly engaged in the 
contest of the following days. 
On the 8th, the construction of 
the works known as the "Horse 
Shoes," were ordered, against 
General Daniel's protest, as they 
were flanked on both sides. They 
proved to be a lamentable mis- 
take, and were held only at a 
terrible sacrifice. It was at this 
point, on the morning of the 12th 
of May, that General Daniel fell. 
Grant had driven Edward John- 
son's division out of the salient. 
Eamseur and Harris had gone in 
to retake the works, the enemy 
were trying to break Lee's second 
line, as they had broken the first, 
pushing the right of Daniel's 

brigade very heavily. He was a 
few paces in the rear of the 45th 
regiment, his staff" officers on 
various parts of the line, and 
while giving orders to one of his 
gallant young couriers, he fell 
forward on his face, struck in the 
abdomen by a Minnie ball. 

He was carried under a shower 
of shot and shell to the rear, and 
at first, was of the opmion caused, 
doubtless, by the fact, that the 
point of exit of the ball alone 
gave him pain, that he had been 
shot by one of our own men, who 
was too cowardly to be well up, 
and too frightened to take aim. 
"When made aware of his error, 
he seemed to entertain no hopes 
of life, but these revived, some- 
what, when the Surgeons hesi- 
tated to pronounce the wound to 
be mortal. During his remaining 
hours, his thoughts constantly 
turned to the great events pass- 
ing around him, to the fate of his 
beloved South, to that home 
where his happiest hours had 
been passed, and to her whose 
image lay enshrined in his heart. 
But let the incidents attending 
the last moments of the patriot 
and the hero, be told by one who 
witnessed them. 

" General Daniel was wounded 
about 9 o'clock, a. m. About 
three in the afternoon. General 
Eamseur, who had left the field 
to have a wound in his arm 
dressed, came into the tent, shook 
General Daniel's hand warmly, 
expressing his deep sympathy and 
sorrow. They had been true 
friends, and two more gallant 
men never fought side by side. 
General Eamseur remained but 
a moment^ and, about to hasten 


Sketch of General Junius Daniel. 


to the front, he took General 
Daniel's hand within his own, 
saying, whilst tears filled the eyes 
of both, ' Daniel, we will hardly 
meet again in this world, may 
God Almighty bless you, my 
friend.' 'God bless you, Kam- 
seur.' Such were the parting 
words of two as noble and brave 
men as ever died in a holy cause." 

"On Friday, the 13th, I felt 
satisfied that he could not long 
survive, and so informed him, in 
answer to his enquiries. He had 
the Surgeons called in, that he 
might ascertain whether his wife 
could reach him ere he died. 
This being impossible, he spoke of 
her in the most endearing terms, 
directing Major Badger, who was 
present, to place his watch in her 
hands, saying it was ' Ellen's 
watch,' or 'Ellen's gift,' and to 
ask her to provide for his boy, 
William, who had been a good 
and faithful servant, and ' tell 
Bill, ' said he, ' to take good care 
of old John,' the noble old war- 
horse that had carried him 
through more than one bloody 
field. Occasionally, he would ex- 
claim, ' Oh, that I could have 
lived to have seen Grant defeat- 
ed!' And then would enquire of 
his brigade, how the men had 
behaved, and whether they had 
suffered. " 

" A short time before his dis- 
solution, the Doctor informed 
him that he was dying, and asked 
if he might call in a minister of 
the Gospel. He readily assented, 
a minister was brought in, spoke 
a few words, and knelt down in 
prayer. During prayer he was 
very quiet, and as soon as it was 

over, he requested us to raise him 
up in bed ; when we had done so, 
he breathed once or twice quite 
freely. 'Now lay me down,' he 
said, then folding his hands 
across his bosom, and closing his 
eyes, he immediately expired." 

A mournful sight was presented 
in Halifax on the day when Gen- 
eral Daniel was borne to his grave. 
Some of the most gallant sons of 
the county had fallen in the strug- 
gle, and now the true and tried 
soldier, in whom the citizens most 
prided, and from whom they 
hoped the most, struck down in 
the midst of the carnage, lay cold 
in death before them. Many of 
those present had known him from 
his infancy; all had loved him; a 
few days before their hearts had 
bounded with exultation at the 
recital of his achievements — but 
" he had fought his last battle." 

He was buried amidst the ven- 
erable oaks in the old church yard 
of Halifax, where his deceased 
relations, and the dust of many 
other honored dead, lie interred. 
The taste and sympathy of wo- 
man, whose heart instinctively 
turns to the beautiful and true, 
and whose devotion, equally with 
the blood of its martyrs, sancti- 
fied the Southern cause, spread 
upon the hero's bier the richest 
floral offerings, emblematical of 
her grief and his virtues. Let not 
the people of his native county 
and town forget what they owe to 
him and themselves. Ko one 
brought more honesty of purpose 
to the cause than he, no one loved 
it more earnestly or served it with 
more fidelity. His daring valor, 
his stainless integrity and devoted 
patriotism, entitle his memory to 

106 Nature''s Lesson. [June, 

all honor and affection, and the suffered to sleep in a forgotten 
ashes of such a man should not be grave. 



Pain is no longer pain when it is past: 

And what is all the joy of yesterday, 

More than the sunshine that has died away, 
Leaving no trace across the landscape cast. 
Whereby to prove its presence? The rude blast 

That bowed the knotted oak beneath its sway, 

And bent the lissome ash, the forest may 
Keep some slight note of, — since strewn leaves out last 
Quick caught-up sunbeams. — Be like Nature, then, 

Calmly receptive of all sweet delights. 

The while they soothe and strengthen thee; and when 
The wrench of trial shakes thy soul again, — 
Think of the still progressive days and nights 
That blot, with equal sweep, both joy and pain. 

Lexington, Va. maegaret -j. preston. 


TJnj^ublished Correspondeyice of Washington. 



"We are indebted to Mrs. M. 
F. Pritchard, of Carroll ton, Mo., 
for the following letter from Col. 
"Woodford, and the reply of Gen. 
Washington. Mrs. P. made ex- 
act copies of the original letters, 
still in the hands of the descend- 
ants of Colonel Woodford. The 
spelling, punctuation, &c., have 
been carefully followed. 

It is a wonderful proof of the 
laboriousness, as well as kindness, 
of the Father of his country, that 
he could find time, amidst his 
arduous duties, to write an au- 
tograph letter to a subordinate 
officer. The gentle, courteous, 
tone of his letter shows, moreover, 
that the great General never for- 
got the genilemayi. As every- 
thing emanating from Washing- 
ton must have an enduring in- 
terest with the American people, 
we feel sure that we can present 
nothing that would be more ac- 
ceptable to the readers of The 
Land We Love.— Editor. 


July 6th, 1776. 
Dear Sir: 

I was favored with yours of the 
10th of November and should 
long ago have thanked you for 
your kind advice therein contain- 
ed, together with your polite as- 
surance, of your thorough ap- 
probation of my appointment, 
but supposing you too much en- 
gaged in your important office, 
I feared I might be troublesome ; 
this, and not want of respect 
alone occasioned my silence. 

Have ever since made the subject 
of your letter the line of my con- 
duct, how far the common cause 
has been benefitted by it, be- 
comes not me to say, but this I 
venture to affirm, that I have at 
all times exerted my best ability 
in the service. — I am sorry to 
trouble you with complaints, but 
give me leave Sir to say I feel 
myself much hurt by the late 
promotion of my very worthy 
friend Col. Mercer, and to request 
your patience to hear my reasons 
in the best manner I am capable 
of giving them, with that free- 
dom, which I flatter myself 
will not be taken amiss by you. — 
"When the military establish- 
ment of this colony first took 
place, I offered my service in any 
post the convention thought pro- 
per to appoint me to, without so-^ 
liciting any one man of that 
Body for his vote or interest be- 
fore the ballot began, I informed 
the House of which I was at that 
time a Member that I wished to 
serve under that Gentleman, and 
desired no person would vote for 
me in preference to him, not- 
withstanding all that could be 
said he was rejected, and my 
appointment confirmed. When 
the Honorable, the Congress, took 
out troops upon the Continental 
Establishment, a few months ago, 
I again expressed my wish that 
Colonel Mercer might be appoint- 
ed to a higher office, their wisdom 
directed them to make the ar- 
rangement otherways, and I 
looked upon the army as firmly 


Unpublished Correspondence of Washington. 


established in such a manner, 
that every officer would rise in 
his turn, unless some fault could 
be laid to his charge. I have the 
same good opinion of that gentle- 
man I ever had, but what I com- 
plain of is the impropriety as I 
conceive of the appointment, and 
that the promotion of an officer 
at that time serving under me, 
(however well he may deserve it) 
reflected dishonor upon myself, 
and will be attributed by the 
world to some misconduct in me, 
or at best inability to fill a higher 
office. I am informed from good 
authority, that a similar promo- 
tion is now in contemplation in 
favor of Col. Stephens. From 
the above reasons, I must request 
your permission to retire, not 
with any intention to promote 
any disturbances either, in the 
army, or country, but on the con- 
trary to do any future service in 
a private way, to my country, 
and the common cause, to which 
I feel myself as warmly attached 
as ever. Before I conclude I will 
take the liberty to appeal to your 
own feelings as an officer, upon 
such an occasion, and to ask you 
what light I must be looked upon 
in the army for the future. My 
opposition to a popular military 
Officer, and my exertion to intro- 
duce some discijjline among those 
infant troops, has gained me 
enemys, who I can see exulting 
in the late promotion, though 
they hate the man. Wishing you 
all happiness and success in our 
Glorious cause, I have the honor 
to be with the greatest respect, 
Your Excellency's 

Most Obt humble Servant, 
Wm. Woodfokd. 

New York 
30th July 1776. 
Dear Sir 

Your letter of the 6th Inst came 
to my hands a Post or two ago 
and the answer delayed longer 
than I intended from the multi- 
plicity of business in which I am 
engaged. — 

I am sorry you should consider 
Genl Mercer's late appointment as 
a slight put upon your services, 
because I am persuaded no slight 
was intended. — "Whilst the service 
was local, and appointment of 
Officers affected no other Colony 
than that in which they were 
raised, the Continental Congress 
discovered no inclination to in- 
terpose in the appointments, But 
when they were to be chosen for 
more extensive service each mem- 
ber then concieved his own Colo- 
ny to be affected, and that it was 
his duty to make choice of Gen- 
tlemen for Genl Officers whose 
former Bank (as they were to be 
placed over Officers that have com- 
manded Begiments since the com- 
mencement of these disputes, and 
many of the field Officers in the 
last war) would give them the 
best pretensions, and those over 
whom they were to be placed, 
least offence — Upon this principle 
therefore I knew it was that Genl 
Mercer got appointed, and upon 
this principle also it will be that Col 
Stephens is, if such a event should 
take place; upon a revision there- 
fore of the matter I cannot think 
you will find any just cause of 
complaint notwithstanding you 
stood foremost in the appointments 
of Virginia; which, as I observed 
before, were local, and whilst they 
regarded no other Colony, were 


The State of Franklin. 


unattended to by the Congress; 
but you should consider that Col 
Mercer, Genl Lewis, and Col Ste- 
phens were Field Officers in the 
same service, and at the same 
time, that you acted as subaltern, 
and that in general appointments 
.by the Congress, regard must be 
had to the troops here, as much 
as elsewhere, the Officers being 
equally tenacious of Kank ; and 
only reconcilable to Mercer's 
coming in over them on acct of 
his former Rank in the army. 

Upon the whole, I am sorry to 
hear you mention a resignation on 
any account, and hope upon a 
Keconsideration of the matter you 
will change your sentiments and 
continue in the military line you 
are now in — every rub, and diffi- 

culty of this kind impedes the ser- 
vice — hurts our cause — and en- 
courages the Enemy.— However, 
if after what I have said, and 
could say upon the occasion you 
are still resolved not to continue 
in the service, I must refer you to 
the Officer commanding in the 
southern department to receive 
your resignation, or the person 
from whence you derived your 
commission, for as I never have 
interfered in any matter relative 
to the southern command I would 
not wish to begin with a resigna- 
tion that I would wish to be in- 
strumental in preventing. — I am 
with much respect esteem and 

Dr Sir Yr most Obt Servt 
George Washingtok. 


But the patriot statesman at 
the head of the government of 
Korth Carolina, could not be 
moved from his propriety. After 
the adjournment of the Legisla- 
ture, he communicated directly to 
Governor Sevier, the proceedings 
of that body, in reference to the 
revolters. His letter is marked 
with good sense and a pacific tone. 
His words are, " the people are 
not yet of strength and opulence 
sufficient to support an inde- 
pendent State. The Assembly 
wish to continue the benefits and 
protection of the State towards 
them, until such time as their 
numbers and wealth will enable 

them to do for themselves, when 
the Assembly are free to say, a 
separation may take place. In 
the meantime, the most friendly 
intercourse between the people on 
the Eastern and Western waters, 
is strongly recommended, and 
your people, as they have re- 
ceived for the past two years, no 
benefit from Government, are ex- 
empted from the payment of the 
public taxes. " In answer to this 
letter, the Governor of Franklin 
writes respectfully, but firmly, 
expressing his disappointment 
that the separation of the two 
States had not been assented to by 
the Assembly, and closing with 


The State of FranTclin. 


the declaration on the part of 
Franklin: " "We shall continue to 
act as independent, and would 
rather suffer death in all its vari- 
ous and frightful shapes, than to 
conform to anything that is dis- 

The iirm and decisive tone of 
this letter, was in accordance 
with the present temper of Sevier 
and his adherents. The com- 
promise entered into by the con- 
tracting parties on the 20th 
March, was found to be, in some 
of the counties, of little avail. — 
"It is agreed and it is recom- 
mended" were terms sufficiently 
explicit and strong to be obliga- 
tory on the masses, and their 
" regard to peace, tranquility and 
good decorum" led them to respect 
the provisions of the agreement 
made by Gen. Shelby and Gov. 
Sevier. But in those counties, 
where the recent Act of North 
Carolina had vacated certain of 
the offices, and where commis- 
sions under her authority, had 
been accepted and acted under, a 
spirit of faction and discontent 
developed itself. The ins and the 
outs, as is sometimes seen with 
more modern politicians, quar- 
reled. A question arose as to 
the 2^0'"^6'>'s, who had negotiated 
the late "agreement and recom- 
mendation." By common con- 
sent, the office-holders considered 
them invalid and irregular. The 
truce was ended. Governor Se- 
vier determined that he and the 
other officers of Franklin would 
" act as independent." But still 
to this declaration. Gov Caswell 
replied in a very friendly and con- 
ciliatory spirit, favorable to sep- 
aration on the conditions pre- 

viously specified. "If the violent 
passions of some men among 
you," said he, "are not restrain- 
ed, if they are sufiered to break 
out, it will be putting the day 
farther off", and perhaps the sep- 
aration may not be effected with- 
out bloodshed. This, I am sure, 
neither you nor any other man 
capable of reflection, would wish 
to see, if it can be avoided by just- 
ifiable means. You may rely up- 
on it that my sentiments are 
clearly in favor of a separation, 
whenever the people think them- 
selves of sufficient strength and 
abilities to support a govern- 

General Shelby, the other di- 
plomatist, proposed, in the mean- 
time, to the Government he rep- 
resented, the adoption of more 
energetic and efficient measures, 
and asks that troops and ammuni- 
tion should be sent to restore 
order and enforce the laws in 
Franklin, and suggests that aid 
for that purpose might be ob- 
tained from the contiguous coun- 
ties of Virginia. 

At this alarming crisis, in the 
affairs of the two communities 
most interested in it. Colonel A. 
Bledsoe, of Kashville, and a gen- 
tleman of great personal influence 
and weight of character, aided by 
his presence in the disaffected 
counties, in keeping down any 
violence or outbreak. He also ad- 
dressed to Governor Caswell a 
letter rather seconding the views 
of General Shelby, but suggesting 
that the Governor should once 
more address the people, advising 
them of the necessity and ad- 
vantage of returning to their 
duty once more, and of the danger 


The IState of FranlcUn. 


and evil consequences of further tion; if it is general, I have no 
attempts at independence, and doubt of its taking place upon 
expressing his belief that such an reciprocal and friendly terms." 
address, from the Governor, would The Governor, at the same time, 
have a very good effect upon the forwarded through Gen. Shelby, 
principal people in the revolted a long address to the disaffected 
party. inhabitants, in which he says: 

The moderation and good sense "that although the behavior of 
of Governor Caswell seem to some of the refractory might 
have been never at fault, and at justify coercive measures, yet 
no time to have forsaken him, of the consequences that must 
To the suggestions of General ensue from them, and I am 
Shelby, of maintaining the au- willing to hope, that upon re- 
thority of North Carolina, by an flection, and due consideration — a 
armed force, the Governor re- moment's thought must evince 
plied negatively and adds, " that the necessity of mutual friend- 
it would be very imprudent to ship, and the ties of brotherly 
add to the dissatisfaction of the love being cemented among you. " 
Western people, by showing a He concludes this long and most 
wish to encourage the shedding of conciliatory communication thus: 
blood, as thereby, a civil war "I will conclude by once more 
would be brought on, which, at entreating you to consider the 
all times, should be avoided, if dreadful calamities and conse- 
possible." What profound wis- quences of a civil war. Humani- 
dom — what ardent patriotism are ty demands this of me. Your 
here exhibited. Let the virtue own good sense will point out the 
and ability of Caswell ever be propriety of it; at least, let all 
revered by ISTorth Carolina, by animosities and disputes subside 
Tennessee, and by the country at till the next Assembly, even let 
large! In the same letter, the things remain as they are, with- 
Governor goes on to say: "I out pursuing compulsory meas- 
must therefore recommend to you, ures, until then, and I flatter my- 
the using of every means in your self that that honorable body will 
power, to conciliate the minds of be disposed to do what is just and 
the people, as well, those who right, and what sound policy may 
call themselves Franklinites, as dictate." 

the friends and supporters of Nothing yet had occurred be- 
Government. If things could be tween Franklin and North Caro- 
dormant, as it were, till the next lina, so well calculated to heal the 
Assembly, and each man's mind breach and effect a reconciliation 
be employed in considering your between them, as this letter of 
common defence against the sav- Gov. Caswell and the action of 
age enemy, I should suppose it the North Carolina Legislature 
best, and whenever unanimity communicated in it. The origin 
prevails amongst your people, and and cause of the separation, at 
their strength and numbers will the time it occurred, was the Ces- 
justify an application for a separa- sion Act. That had been repeal- 


The State of Franklin. 


ed. The great object of the se- 
cessionists, now was independ- 
ence of Iiiforth Carolina, so as to 
avoid a reenactment of the re- 
pealed law. The apprehension of 
that objectionable and inadmis- 
sible policy was removed in the 
minds of some of the earliest and 
most steadfast friends of Frank- 
lin, by the assurances of the Gov- 
ernor and Legislature of North 
Carolina, that at the proper time, 
a new State should be formed, 
and their cherished wishes for in- 
dependence should be gratified, if 
the malcontents would return to 
their allegiance. The argument 
was forcible, to many perfectly 
satisfactory and irresistible. It 
inflicted a vital stab upon the new 
government, which, within the 
next year, caused its dissolution. 
Under the Franklin Treaties, 
new lands had been acquired from 
the Cherokees. To these a flood 
of emigrants flowed in rapidly, 
and the Franklin settlements ex- 
tended to and embraced the coun- 
try East and Korth of the Little 
Tennessee. Coming thus in close 
proximity to the territory and 
people of Georgia, an alliance be- 
tween the latter and Franklin 
was considered as mutually ad- 
vantageous and desirable. Gov. 
Houston accordingly commission- 
ed Gov. Sevier as a Brigadier 
General in the service of Georgia, 
in order to secure the assistance 
and cooperation of the Franklin 
soldiery, in the occupancy and de- 
fence of the projected settlements 
in the great bend of the Tennes- 
see River — now North Alabama. 
Gov. Sevier was not unwilling to 
accept this evidence of the con- 
fidence and friendship of Georgia. 

He was sensible of the opposition 
Franklin had encountered, and 
the growing discontent and diffi- 
culty yet to be encountered, from 
some in the new State and from 
the government of North Caro- 
lina. His Cherokee neighbors, 
and their allies, the Creeks, were 
ready at any moment to take ad- 
vantage of the necessities of the 
infant government, and involve it 
in a general war. He took the 
precaution, therefore, to assure 
himself of the good feeling and 
cooperation of the Georgians, and 
to identify that people with his 
own in the common cause of self- 
defence and self-protection. With 
many of their leading men, he 
had become acquainted in the 
Revolutionary war. Some of 
them had been at his side on 
King's Mountain and other battle- 
grounds of that struggle. Some 
of them at its close had followed 
him to the West and adhered to 
his fortunes in every vicissitude. 
The countrymen of Clarke, Pick- 
ens and Matthews, all knew bis 
gallantry, and were his steadfast 
friends. Under these circum- 
stances it is not strange, that the 
authorities of Georgia made an 
engagement with those of Frank- 
lin to suppress the hostilities of 
the Creek Indians, and to bind 
the two communities in the bonds 
of a common brotherhood. 

Such a fraternization had now 
become, with Sevier, a pressing 
necessity. Some of the causes 
for separating the Western coun- 
ties from the parent State, had 
either ceased to exist, or operated 
now, upon the minds of the peo- 
ple, with less intensity, and it had 
become evident that a very for- 


The State of Franklin. 


midable party, in Franklin, was 
now opposed to a further con- 
tinuance of the new Government. 
Appointees, of Korth Carolina, 
now held regular sessions of their 
courts in Washington county. In 
other counties, the authority of 
Franklin was so far extinct, that 
of ISTorth Carolina so fully recog- 
nized, that elections for the 
Greeneville Assembly were not 
held, but representatives were 
regularly chosen for the old State, 
to meet in Tarboro'. Of those 
thus elected, several had been the 
steadfast friends of separation 
and independence, and had been 
the principal functionaries of the 
new Commonwealth. Even 
Greene county, which had hereto- 
fore refused to permit commis- 
sions emanating from the old dy- 
nasty, to be accepted and acted 
under, within its boundaries, had 
partaken of the general defection, 
and elected to the Tarboro' As- 
sembly, as Senator, the presiding 
Judge of the Franklin Bench, and 
as members of the House, Daniel 
Kennedy, one of the Franklin 
brigadiers, and James Eeese, Esq., 
recently a member of its Legis- 

"Washington county, in like 
manner, was represented now, by 
members who had been the first 
to propose, and the most active 
in carrying into effect, the insur- 
rectionary movement. Sullivan 
county, too, had chosen for rep- 
resentatives to the Tarboro' As- 
sembly, gentlemen, who had been 
original supporters of Franklin, 
and advocates of separation. — 
Sevier and Caswell counties, alone, 
maintained their allegiance to 
the new State, and adhered to 
VOIi. V. — NO. II. 

Sevier and his fortunes; and even 
in these, there were not wanting 
men, whose position was equivo- 
cal, and who hesitated not to 
dissuade from further resistance 
to the current, which now set so 
strongly in favor of the mother 
State. Harassed by the difficul- 
ties that surrounded his official 
position, and perplexed by the 
duties and responsibilities de- 
volving on him as a patriot. 
Governor Sevier instituted a fur- 
ther embassy to Georgia, with the 
hope of extricating himself and 
his government from accumula- 
ting embarrassments. As a der- 
nier resort, he invited the media- 
tion of Georgia,* between ISTorth 
Carolina and Franklin. This 
embassy, however, was followed 
by no practical benefit to Frank- 
lin. The authorities of Georgia, 
while they eulogized the spirit of 
the Franks, and expressed the 
hope for their success, did noth- 
ing in the proposed mediation. 
They, however, renewed the plan 
of co-operation by Franklin and 
Georgia, in the conquest of the 
Creek Nation. Dispatches con- 
taining the proceedings at Au- 
gusta, and the alliance between 
the contracting parties, were for- 
warded, by express, to Governor 
Sevier. This intelligence was 
hailed with joy by his adherents, 
and was not unacceptable to that 
part of the people, who had trans- 
ferred, or were prepared to trans- 
fer their allegiance to the mother 
State. The object of the alli- 
ance — the conquest of the Creeks, 

* For a further account of the nego- 
tiation bet-sreen Franklin and Georgia, 
see " Ramsey's Tennessee," page 37(i 
to 399. 


The State of Franklin. 


and the occupancy of the country 
helow them, on the Tennessee, — 
accorded exactly with the martial 
spirit of the Western soldiery, 
and comported well with their 
character and taste for adventure 
and enterprise. Small as was 
their number, remote and inac- 
cessible as was the theatre for the 
contemplated campaign, difficulty 
and danger only stimulated them 
to the undertaking, and they 
longed for the opportunity of 
carrying their victorious arms to 
the country above Mobile Bay. 
Rumors had reached them of the 
occlusion of the Mississippi, and 
they already cherished the design 
of opening up, by their own 
swords, a channel of commerce 
with the world, in despite of 
Eederal indifference or foreign 
diplomacy and injustice. 

If the people of Franklin re- 
joiced at this intelligence, it may 
be easily supposed that Gov. Se- 
vier received it with the highest 
gratification. He was too saga- 
cious, not to have observed that 
the new State was at the point of 
dissolution — the crisis was at hand 
which it could not probably sur- 
vive. Elections had not been 
holden of members for a succeed- 
ing session of the Franklin As- 
sembly. His gubernatorial term 
would expire in a few short 
months. He was, himself, ineli- 
gible and a successor could be ap- 
pointed only by a vote of the leg- 
islative bodies. The only chance 
of preserving the integrity of his , 
government was that the projected 
campaign would silence the clam- 
or of the malcontents, and restore 
harmony and concert to the dis- 
tracted members of his little re- 

public. This hope was fallacious 
and illusory; but the Governor's 
perseverance was indomitable, 
and by a circular to each colonel 
of all the counties, he made an 
appeal to the chivalry of the coun- 
try to rally to his standard and 
volunteer for the distant service. 
This appeal by Gov. Sevier to the 
gallantry of his countrymen was 
responded to, in their usual war- 
like spirit. An army of volun- 
teers was at once recruited and 
only waited for the promised aid 
of Georgia to commence the cam- 
paign. The expedition was af- 
terwards abandoned on account 
of a treaty with the Indians un- 
der authority of Congress. This 
delay, and the consequent disap- 
pointment of the militia of Frank- 
lin, baffled the hope its Governor 
had cherished of harmonizing the 
jDeople, in support of the new gov- 
ernment. The volunteers were 
restless, impatient and disappoint- 
ed. Employment suited to their 
taste— danger, with which habit 
had made them familiar — victory, 
which had ever followed them 
and their leader — conquest, which 
they never doubted — renown, 
which they deified — achievement, 
which they idolized,— and fame, for 
which they sighed, — had suddenly 
vanished and eluded their grasp. 
Kotaword of censure was uttered 
against their gallant commander- 
in-chief, but the soldier}' remain- 
ed, in sullen silence and discon- 
tent, at home. 

Pending negotiations for obtain- 
ing auxiliaries from abroad, the 
new government was every day 
losing an adherent at home, who, 
by transferring his allegiance to 
North Carolina, sensibly dimin- 


The State of Franklin. 


ished the influence and authority 
of Sevier. In 1787, there scarcely- 
remained in the Commonwealth 
of Franklin vitality enough to 
give it a nominal existence; its 
substance and strength were ab- 
solved into the Carolina Begime, 
and the pangs of political annihila- 
tion having thus come, little more 
of the skeleton of the government 
was left than its head. That, 
still, under all the debility which 
affected the body, retained its 
wonted vitality and vigor. The 
Council of State had participated 
in the general disaffection, and 
some of its members had accepted 
office under North Carolina, while 
others had failed to meet their 
colleagues in the Board, or had 
formerly withdrawn from it. The 
judiciary, in its highest depart- 
ment, was annihilated by the elec- 
tion of Judge Campbell to a seat 
in the Tarboro Legislature, and 
his appointment by that body as 
Judge of the Superior Court at 
Jonesboro. The Legislature of 
Franklin suffered also from the 
prevalent disintegration, and man- 
ifested a strong tendency to dis- 
memberment. From some of the 
old counties there was no repre- 
sentation, while the delegates from 
others exhibited indecision or dis- 

In September, of this year, a 
quorum was got together, and 
constituted, at Greeneville, the 
last Legislature of Franklin. Its 
legislation was unimportant. The 
Governor was scarcely able to 
secure the passage of an act to 
provide for descending, with his 
troops, the Tennessee river, and 
taking possession of its Great 
Bend. This bill was passed by 

a compromise. The quid pro quo, 
given to the dissentients, was the 
appointment of two delegates, to 
make to the Legislature of Korth 
Carolina, such representations of 
the affairs of Franklin as might 
be thought proper. 

The Legislature, however, fail- 
ed to elect the State Council, and 
the Governor was thus left "alone 
in his glory." Some of the old 
Board, though no longer his con- 
stitutional advisers, dissuaded 
him from further effort to per- 
petuate the new government, and 
advised him to yield to the ne- 
cessity that portended its fate, and 
threatened to overwhelm its ex- 
ecutive. Vestige after vestige of 
Franklin was obliterated ; its 
judiciary was gone; its legisla- 
ture reduced to a skeleton; its 
council effete, defunct, powerless; 
its military disorganized, if not 
discordant; and its masses con- 
fused and distracted, with no con- 
cert and unanimity among them- 

Distraction extended, likewise, 
to the lower judicial tribunals of 
Franklin. The possession of the 
Court Kecords was, of course, 
desired by the rival parties: a 
scuffle would ensue, ending some- 
times in a general fight. Scenes 
of disorder took place, which 
were generally sources of merri- 
ment and pleasurable excitement, 
rather than causes of settled 
malice or revenge. The parties 
separated, and soon after were 
friends. In Washington county, 
however, the dispute became 
acrimonious, and at length gene- 
rated a feeling of inappeasable 
malignity between the leaders of 
their respective parties. From 


The State of FranlcUn. 


the commencement of the revolt, 
this county had been the seat of 
a central influence, which, while 
it remained united, was able to 
repress any opposition to its au- 
thority. That central power was 
represented by two very numerous 
and very respectable families, the 
leaders of which were John Se- 
vier and John Tipton, — each 
alike, brave, patriotic and am- 
bitious. Each had been dis- 
tinguished by martial exploits, 
and patriotic services in civil life. 
They had conquered together at 
the defeat of Ferguson, and coop- 
erated together harmoniously in 
all the incipient measures of the 
insurrectionary government. On 
one occasion, as has been men- 
tioned, when Sevier hesitated and 
dissuaded from separation, Tipton 
was decided in support of that 
measure. Tipton became an offi- 
cer under the new government. 
After the repeal of the Cession 
Act, the former returned to his al- 
legiance to the parent State and 
was now a member of its legisla- 
ture — the latter maintained his 
opposition to it. They were now 
implacable enemies. Each of them 
had political adherents and per- 
sonal friends. Neither of them 
had a personal enemy. Each of 
these leaders, it is reasonable to 
suppose, felt the ambition to sup- 
plant his rival, and prevent his 

In the midst of these rivalries 
there was still no outbreak or tu- 
mult. The Legislature of North 
Carolina, at its sessions of 1787, 
continued and extended its con- 
ciliatory policy towards the re- 
volters. The former acts of par- 
don and oblivion were reiinacted, 
and those, who availed themselves 
of the advantages specified there- 
in, were restored to the privileges 
of citizenship. Suits were dis- 
missed, which had been instituted 
for the recovery of penalties or 
forfeitures incurred by a non-com- 
pliance with the revenue laws. — 
These pacific and satisfactory 
measures were suggested and sup- 
ported by the late revolters, but 
now members from the Western 
counties, and went far to remove 
the remaining discontent and 
quiet the complaints of the citi- 
zens. But the Governor of 
Franklin still retained his elastic 
and sanguine temper, and as late 
as January 24, 1788, continued to 
inspire his adherents with hope. 
To one of his Generals at that 
date he says: " I am happy to in- 
form you that I find our friends 
very warm and steady — much 
more than heretofore." Yery 
warm and steady were indeed the 
friends of John Sevier, but not of 
the Governor of Franklin, now 
tottering into ruins. In little 
more than one month, Franklin 
had ceased to be. 

1868.] Under the Lava. 117 


Far down in the depths of my spirit 

Out of the sight of man, 
Lies a buried Herculaneum 

Whose secrets none may scan, 
No warning cloud of sorrow 

Cast its shadow o'er my way, 
No drifting shower of ashes 

Made of life a Pompeii. 
But a sudden tide of anguish 

Like molten lava rolled, 
And hardened — hardened — hardened- 

As its burning waves grew cold. 
Beneath it youth was buried, 

And Love, and Hope, and Trust, 
And life unto me seemed nothing — 

Nothing but ashes and dust. 
Oh! it was glorious! glorious! 

That past with its passionate glow, 
Its beautiful painted frescoes, 

Its statues white as snow. 
When I tasted love's ambrosia 

As it melted in a kiss, 
When I drank the wine of friendship 

And believed in earthly bliss ; 
When I breathed the rose's perfume, 

With lilies wreathed my hair. 
And moved to liquid music 

As it floated on the air. 
To me it was real — real — 

That passionate blissful joy, 
Which Grief may encrust with lava. 

But Death can alone destroy. 
'Twas a life all bright and golden, 

Bright with the light of love, 
A past still living though buried 

With another life above. 
Another life built o'er it, 

With other love and friends, 

118 Under the Lava. [June, 

^V'hich my spirit often leaveth 

And into the past descends. 
Though buried deep in ashes 

Of burnt out hopes it lies, 
Under the hardened lava 

From which it ne'er can rise; 
It is no ruined city — 

Ko city of the dead — 
When in the mid-night watches 

Its silent streets I tread. 
To me it changeth never, 

Buried in all its prime — 
Not fading — fading — fading — 

Under the touch of Time. 
The beautiful frescoes painted 

By Fancy still are there, 
With glowing tints unchanging 

Till brought to upper air. 
And many a graceful statue 

In marble white as snow. 
Stands fair and all unbroken 

In that silent " Long Ago." 
It is not dead but living 

My glorious buried past! 
With its life of passionate beauty 

Its joy too bright to last. 
t But living under the lava, 

For the pictures fade away, 
And the statues crumble — crumble — 

When brought to the light of day. 
And like to Dead Sea apples 

Is Love's ambrosia now. 
And the lilies wither — wither — 

If I place them on my brow. 
And so I keep them ever. 

Things from this life apart, 
Under the lava and ashes 

Down in the depths of my heart. 

Personal Mecollections of Eminent Men. 




As Colonel Benton was a native 
of North Carolina, I thought 
some notice of him, in a magazine 
published in his native State, may 
be acceptable. 

His public life I leave to history 
which, I hope, when divested of 
party rancor, will do him the jus- 
tice denied by contemporaries. 

Of his early career, I know 
nothing, personally. He was 
favorably introduced to my notice 
by his friend and fellow officer in 
the army of 1812, Gov. James P. 
Preston. He afterwards married 
Oovernor Preston's niece. Miss 
McDowell, my friend and relative. 
I thus came to know him inti- 
mately, and take pleasure in tes- 
tifying to his many virtues in 
private and domestic life. 

Owing to the reports which had 
reached them. Miss McDowell's 
friends were rather opposed to 
her marriage, and he was, per- 
haps, coldly received by them — 
but such feelings were soon 
changed by his constant tender- 
ness to his wife, and uniform 
respectful attentions to her rela- 
tions; this lasted through life, 
and it was impossible not to love 
and admire him as a friend. 

For several years before her 
death, Mrs. Benton was so para- 
lyzed as scarcely to be able to 
speak. During the whole of this 
affliction, the Colonel's attentions 
were never remitted, never falter- 
ed, and he required his household 
to pay her the same respect, she 
had been accustomed to command 

when in health. It was touching 
to see her sitting at the head of 
her table with honorable guests 
surrounding it, and he, with the 
most delicate tact, dispensing 
those courtesies, which, under 
other circumstances, were her 
duty. The Colonel's letters, after 
her death, were full of expres- 
sions of the greatest admiration 
of her character, and his after- 
life showed his tender devotion to 
her memory. Mrs. Benton was 
endowed with great natural 
abilities, cultivated by constant 
intercourse with the best society 
of our country, and was always 
considered an ornament to it. 
She was the sister of Grovernor 
McDowell, of Virginia, and near 
relative and attached friend, from 
childhood, of Colonel "William C. 
Preston, of South Carolina. Dur- 
ing the long political estrange- 
ment between Colonel Benton and 
Colonel Preston, Mrs. B. never 
forgot the dignity of the wife, nor 
the kindness of the friend. Their 
reconciliation was a relief to both, 
and productive of much pleasure. 
Every one knows the amount of 
work Colonel Benton accomplish- 
ed in his public capacity — but, 
perhaps, few are aware of the 
labors of his private and do- 
mestic life. This was his routine 
one winter. After the late din- 
ner usual in Washington, he re- 
tired to his chamber and took a 
short nap, then rose and taught 
his children until 10 o'clock, then 
accompanied his wife, or any 
young lady who might be under 


Personal Recollections of Eminent men. 


his protection, to some private 
party, returned at 12, slept until 
4, then arose, read Spanish with 
his teacher for two hours — then 
his refreshing early walk and 
breakfast prepared him for the 
public duties of the day. Such 
was the system that procured for 
him the character of the most 
laborious man of his time. Col. 
Benton was tall and inclined to 
corpulency, fair haired, blue eyed 
and rather pale. His constant 
labors told on his complexion — 
not handsome, but would be re- 
marked in any crowd as a fine 
looking gentleman. His manners 
were uniformly respectful to 
ladies, and I never saw anything 
but the utmost courtesy in social 
life, although I knew he was ac- 
cused of rudeness in the Senate. 
He had some little peculiarities of 
manner, at which his friends 
laughed. Such, for instance, as 
repeating a sentence several times, 
' How do you do, how do you do, 
how do you do,' or asserting, 
' that's so, that's so, that's so, 
yes, yes, that's so,' nodding his 
head every time. Sometimes 
there was a little ebullition of 
vanity, excusable in one who had 
risen so high, and who was con- 
stantly receiving honors and ad- 

Speaking of Col. Benton recalls 
to my mind his brother-in-law, 
Gov. McDowell, of Virginia. I 
will, therefore, give a slight sketch 
of him, as I knew him from child- 
hood — and I never knew a purer 
man. His youth was moral, his 
after life religious, and the high 
sense of honor he inherited from 
his ancestry, shone forth in every 
action of his life. He was a na- 

tive of Kockbridge county, Vir- 
ginia — a county that has the hon- 
or of having given birth to more 
distinguished men than any other 
county in the St^e, and in every 
department in life; from the Rev. 
Archibald Alexander, President 
of Princeton College, nearly a 
century ago, to Cyrus McCor- 
mick, who has just received the 
highest honors in England and 
Prance, as the best machinist in 
the world. Settled at first by 
hardy Scotch Irish Presbyterians, 
they at once set themselves to 
work to erect churches and schools, 
and verily they have been re- 
warded in their moral, industri- 
ous, intelligent descendants, who 
have lately illustrated their good 
taste and appreciation of worth, 
by inviting to, and cherishing in 
their bosom, the most beloved and 
honored one of our State, whose 
name will go down to posterity 
associated with that of the Father 
of His Country. 

Mr. McDowell was born Octo- 
ber, 1795, and at an early age 
was placed in the family of the 
Rev. Samuel Brown, of Provi- 
dence church, Rockbridge, not 
too far from home to be exempt 
from its blessed influences. When 
old enough, he attended the schools 
in Lexington until prepared for 
college. He was first sent to 
Yale, but becoming dissatisfied 
there, with his father's consent 
he removed to Princeton, where 
he soon established an enviable 
reputation as a student and speak- 
er, and graduated with honor. — 
He studied law but did not come 
to the bar. Having an ample 
fortune and marrying early, he 
preferred the quiet pursuits of lit- 


Personal BecollecUons of Eminent Men. 


erature as a country gentleman — 
but his talents and worth could 
not be hidden from the discerning 
community around him, and he 
was soon called tp serve the in- 
terests of his county and party 
in the Legislature. Mr. Mc- 
Dowell was a decided Democrat of 
that day, but liberal to all. Soon 
after his election as Governor, a 
leading Democrat called on him 
to remonstrate on his retaining 
Capt. Dimmock as Superintend- 
ent of the armory. "Why not, 
he is better suited to the place 
than any one I know." " But he 
is a Whig," said the gentleman. 
" That makes no difference if he 
does his duty," replied the Gov- 
ernor. " Then, sir, you cannot 
be sustained by your party." " I 
am here to serve the State." He 
never afterwards seemed to have 
any respect for that gentleman, 
although a prominent leader of 
his party. He was scrupulously 
conscientious in his public as well 
as private life. I have seen him 
walk the floor in almost an agony of 
feeling, his strict sense of justice 
conflicting with his tender sensi- 
bilities, when applied to for par- 
dons. I remember one occasion 
particularly, when a young lady 
came as a wife only could come, 
to petition for her husband, who 
was convicted of forgery — her 
overwhelming misery was almost 
too much for the Governor, and 
he faltered, but after a while 
stern justice conquered. " If it 
had been the first offence," he 
said, " but unfortunately the act 
has been committed several times, 
and shows the want of principle." 
As an orator Mr. McDowell had 
few superiors. His action was 

classical and fluent — his manner 
graceful and dignified. I have 
been told his announcement to 
Congress of the death of the Ex- 
President, J. Q. Adams, was the 
most touching effort ever made on 
the floor of Congress — and when 
he repeated the old familiar lines, 

" ' Tis not the -whole of life to live, 
Nor all of death to die." 

there was a thrill throughout the 
house. It sounds a little ludi- 
crous to us now, that several gen- 
tlemen came up and asked him 
where he got that beautiful quo- 
tation. Notwithstanding his rep- 
utation as an orator, of which he 
must have been conscious, it was 
often with difficulty he overcame 
his natural diffidence, and it al- 
ways cost him an effort to appear 
before a strange audience. He 
was in Cambridge in '46, the day 
of Commencement. By some 
means it was found out he was in 
the Hall, and he was immediately 
sought out and conducted to the 
platform and seated between Pres- 
ident J. Q. Adams and Governor 
Winthrop, Mr. Sumner made a 
speech — the subject— a eulogy on 
Judge Story and Bowditch. I do 
not remember how he brought in 
abolition and the South, but I 
can't forget Mr. McDowell's 
amused and sarcastic look, as he 
raised his eyes to where I sat in 
the gallery. After the ceremo- 
nies were over Mr. McDowell at- 
tempted to join his party, but the 
officials accompanied him and in- 
sisted on his going to the dinner. 
He made many excuses— among 
others he had to escort a lady re- 
turning to the South to the steam- 
boat. Gov. Winthrop turned to 
the lady and politely asked her to 

122 Farmer Bumhleby. [June, 

excuse him. "Certainly," she were enthusiastically praised ; and 
replied, "I can easily defer my above all, the extreme modesty 
departure till to-morrow," and and dignity of his demeanor, 
he was carried off in triumph. If Mr. McDowell had lived in 
That evening, I spent at Ab- more eventful times he would 
hot Lawrence's. A number of have been a prominent man, but, 
gentlemen came in full of the treat fortunately for him, he entered 
they had had in Mr. McDowell's into the rest that remains for the 
dinner speech. His style, his people of God before our troubles 
manner, his personal appearance commenced. 



This is the Legend of what befell 
Parmer Bumbleby — down a well. 


Farmer Bumbleby. One of those, 
Broad of shoulders and square of toes, 

That never lose, of their lives, a day, 
Kor know of a debt that they cannot pay. 

With a " hundred" arms and an eye that scanned 
Every finger of every hand. 

"Briaerius — Argus!" one to keep 

A Bank account with his bees and sheep. 

In short, of that natural "order" which 
Ripens at forty and ripens — rich! 

Rich and rosily, ripened he! 
My burliest, busiest — Bumbleby. 


Farmer Bumbleby digged a — wait! 
Mutton! We won't anticipate. 

1868.] Farmer Bumhleby. 123 

Farmer Bumbleby owned a Kam, 
Black as Egypt, begot of " Ham." 

Sire, (such was the Squire's delight,) 

To flocks with never a fleck of—" white." 

Kame of Legion ! and noiD it fell 

That Farmer Bumbleby digged his well. 


Forty feet from the surface, sheer 
To gravel, tokening water near. 

A picket-paling that rambled nigh 
Yelled the pit from a careless eye. 

Not too high for the running leap 

Of an average fool of a frightened sheep. 


" Something hinders the curb inside." 
Something lacking to cause it slide. 

" Master's hand is the oil," said he — 
Down he went like a Bumble-Bee, 

Sent it home with a rumble, when — 
What did enter those black sheep then? 


Ham, and the whole of his colored kin, 
Seized at once by the sire of sin! 

First a frolic and then a fright; 

A headlong, diabolic flight 


For the little picket, established nigh 
The present quarters of Bumbleby. 


Front the lightning! and, if you will, 
Turn Niagara up the hill! 

Cross the hurricane's path! but keep 
Your chivalry clear of a charge of sheep. 

124 Farmer Bumhlehy. [June, 


Here they come, with a stamp and stare ! 
Over the fence, and a foot to spare! 

Wooly cataract I first the sire 

And then the progeny, high and higher. 

Mutton- torrent; and every sheep 
Mad for the highest and lowest leap! 

Over the wall with a demivolt, 
Down the well, like a catapult! 

Endless? nay, for the pit is full; 
Up to the windlass, a well of wool. 


'Twas August! The first Avent down at day, 
The last came up when the skies were gray; 

Night, when Bumbleby reached the air, ^ 

A Picture! Paint him! I might despair, 

But Black, the color, is close and cheap. 
And tliere'^s his likeness upon a sheep! 

Deftly done! but a bolder sleight 

The Fuller's that ever im-paints him, white! 

Enough! may never your hands expel 
Such a sick man from such a well! 


We laid him out on the grass to cool, 

And he fainted, faltering " d-a-s-h all wool!" 

lie lived but dwindled, the wretched man. 
From fat and rosy to gaunt and wan. 

A double horror oppressed his soul — 

A mutton-mountain and that " black hole." 

No peace his days; and his nights no sleep; 
Ever his morning-and-night-mare— Sheep! 

1868.] ' Mary Ashburton. 125 

All wool became, and we banished it, 
Another name for — " another fit!" 


At last we saw in his waning eye 

That either the man must change or die. 

We called the Doctor; he came, in cloth! 
And ordered, mortally, "mutton-broth!" 


Have you an uncle? Whose name is Sam? 
Has your uncle a pet black Earn? 

Kind, I think, of his kin to tell 

Your uncle of Bumbleby and his Well. 



Going in the kitchen, I startled ural glory, as I had never seen 
its numerous occupants at my un- pans before. " Plenty for me to 
expected and untimely presence do," I thought, as I surveyed it 
in their dominion. They evident- all quickly and made my resolu- 
ly had the sway there, to judge tions. 

from appearances. Mother would " Good morning," I said with 
have been horror-stricken at the calm dignity, "I have come to 
sight of a biscuit-board on the see about breakfast. What does 
floor, trodden by the feet of nu- Mr. Chauncey like?" 
merous little dark, sleek urchins A broad stare was my only re- 
that ran and hid themselves be- ply, until I repeated my question, 
hind their mothers' gowns, when when two or three voices essayed 
they saw me, screaming "The to answer, 
new mistis! the new mistis!" " Which is the cook?" I asked. 

The floor was stained with dirt, "I'se cook, ma'am," replied 
the stove rusty and streaked with one black as 'the ace of spades,' 
grease, while the pans that hung, for want of a comparison, yet 
some on the wall, others strewn with a keen, bright eye and an 
about in every direction, were air of briskness that betokened 
dim and obscured from their cat- considerable smartness, more fre- 
quently exerted in eye-service 

* Contiuued from page 50. than in the minor details of an 


Mary Ashburton. 


orderly kitchen, cleanly cooking 
utensils — more from the need of 
a mistress' presence, I suspected, 
than from a natural lack of ener- 

Here shall begin my work of re- 
formation, I inwardly decided; 
there's enough for me to do for 
the present, — and all this enor- 
mous family of servants, how can 
they be supported now, reduced 
in means as he is, they having 
nothing to do at present, and yet 
swallowing up all the profits. — 
Mother's training was not lost 
upon me, and I was too much in- 
terested in Alfred's welfare not 
to be thoroughly alive to every- 
thing of a practical nature. 

I closely questioned them as to 
what he liked or disliked, desir- 
ous of consulting his tastes in all 
that was done. 

"He don't like 6uflSn now," 
remarked the cook, with an ac- 
cent of discontent in her tone, 
" he don't hardly eat nuffin." 

" What is that? an omelette 
you are going to prepare for break- 
fast? Is that what you give him 
every morning? Let there be 
something else this morning." 

"Dunno what it'll be then, 
miss," she replied sullenly, "he 
will eat that as soon as anything." 

I did not stop to parley with 
her, but quietly proceeded as I 
intended, and when she declared 
her ignorance of such a dish, I 
bade her procure me the mate- 
rials and set to work myself. 

She had had pretty much the 
sway there since Mrs. Chauncey's 
death, as the housekeeper had 
left immediately after that had 
occurred, and, I suppose, had an- 
ticipated something of the kind 

from the unsophisticated girl that 
was to assume the post of her 
former mistress. I quickly show- 
ed them, however, that they had 
nothing to expect from that. — 
Calmly and quietly, I assumed my 
post as a lady and mistress of the 
household, and with native quick- 
ness and tact she changed her 
manner at once. From a look of 
sullen, ill-concealed displeasure, 
and a disposition to pertness in 
her tone, she suddenly became 
very brisk and attentive, bringing 
me the things I wanted with alac- 
rity, and growing complimentary 
if not flattering. 

" You is a smart young lady," 
she expressed as her opinion. "You 
do things so nice. Why, I spec as 
how you can do a'most anything. 
I think as how ladies oughter 
come in their kitchen." 

This was said very wisely and 
sententiously, as if delivering her- 
self of some precomposed ad- 
dress she deemed would be agree- 
able to my peculiar inclinations. 

" If it is kept clean," I answer- 
ed quietly, and keeping her at a 
distance, for she was too much 
disposed to familiarity. She look- 
ed confused, and muttered some- 
thing about the children. 

" Have they no other place to 
stay?" I asked. 

"There's the quarter, miss, 
but they don't like to stay there." 

" Why?" 

" The glass is broke out the 
winders and they're cold." 

" I will see to having it repaired 
and made comfortable." 

"They'll sot it on fire by they- 

" I will see also that they are 
attended to." 


Mary Ashhurton. 


So I busied myself for some 
time, ascertaining their wants and 
arranging some little delicacy, I 
hoped would tempt my dear one's 
lost appetite. 

"When my little preparations 
were ready, the table neatly, 
tastefully arranged with the win- 
dows opened just enough to lata 
cheerful brightness into the room, 
I had him called to breakfast. 

"Mars Alfred says, madam," 
said the stately waiter, coming 
back from my mission, " wont 
you be pleased to excuse his ab- 
sence, as he is not well and will 
keep his room." 

If the man had not been there I 
should have burst into tears, I was 
so disappointed and distressed. I 
wanted to see him and when 
would I have the opportunity? — 
Kot for hours— and my work all 
thrown away. I felt faint and 
sick ; it seemed so useless to try, 
but suddenly taking courage again 
I determined to make another 
effort. So rising, I took the pret- 
tiest silver waiter I could find, ar- 
ranged the delicacies I had pre- 
pared in fine porcelain, and crown- 
ed the whole with a bouquet of 
choice, lovely flowers. 

This time I sent by his nurse, 
thinking that she might have 
some influence perhaps to induce 
him to partake of it — and — my 
heart also whispered a secret hope 
that he might know — that she 
might say, perhaps — who had so 
zealously cared for him — at least 
she might let him know that I 
thought of him. She soon return- 
ed with the waiter untouched. 

" He wouldn't let me in," she 
said with indignant anxiety, "I 
don't know what's to become of 

him at this rate. I'm afeared for 
his life. Does he mean to starve 
hisself to death for that critter?" 

" Oh!" I exclaimed in extreme 
distress, "what can I do for him." 

"IsTo thing at all, miss, but trust 
in the Lord that it'll come right 
somehow. He's often shut his- 
self up that a way since — since 
she treated him so scandalous. — 
Mebbe now he's got another one 
here, he'll come out of these 

" Order one of the boys in the 
garden with me," I said quickly, 
flushing crimson to my temples. 

I spent the morning there work- 
ing in the borders, rooting up 
weeds, pruning vines with my 
scissors, training them in the 
proper direction , where they had 
burst from their support and 
trailed along the ground. "Work- 
ing energetically I got some of the 
squares in order before the mid- 
day sun had rendered it time for 
me to cease from out-door labors, 
and to seek the refreshing cool- 
ness within. 

Then I busied myself about the 
house ; there was much to be done, 
and the numerous servants were 
set to work in all directions — yet 
not noisily — I would have him 
disturbed by no housekeeper's 
bustle, but as quietly as possible, 
and as far from his room as the 
space would admit. 

He was there all day. I made 
another effort, and in much fear 
and trembling sent him a cooling 

"Yes, miss, he drank it," re- 
plied Melissa, in answer to my 
look of inquiry, " he seemed burn- 
ing up with thirst." 

He appeared at dinner, looking 


Mary Ashburton. 


ing feebler than he did the 
day before, but he ate more 
and that was some comfort. — 
He was even more silent than 
yesterday, and did not make the 
slightest effort to entertain me, 
thinking, perhaps, that I had 
made myself more at home than 
he felt, since another's money 
had redeemed the old place from 
strangers. Unconquerable shy- 
ness in his presence kept me still 
from saying anything to him. I 
could not utter commonplaces to 
him, nor insult him with ex- 
pressions of the sympathy he did 
not seek and proudly avoided. — 
Like a timid child I looked on 
him with awe, and felt crushed 
into nothingness before him, his 
mien was so dark and stern, 
he seemed so much older than I, 
and so far removed from me in 
every way. Indeed his youth 
seemed to have fled, so different 
was he from the joyous, brilliant 
young man of a few months since, 
all the elasticity belonging to his 
years gone, life darkened into a 

In the evening he went away, 
directing his steps to the forest as 
I could see, then I lost sight of 
him, for my straining eyes could 
discern his figure no further. I 
make the houst intolerable to him, 
I thought. Then I took a walk 
myself, wending my way to the 
fields in which I discerned a 
broad, tempting pathway. 

"Me gwine along o' oo," I 
heard behind me as 1 started. A 
sleek little chubby-faced darkey 
with a roly-poly figure, very much 
bow-legged, and with a blue do- 
mestic slip ou, was toddling along 
behind me. 

" "Where did you come from, 
and what's your name?" 

" I'se Rose, I is, and dars mam- 
my in de skitchen." 

" You'll get tired if you walk 
with me. Those fat, little feet 
can't carry you far." 

Upon that she surveyed her 
four year old feet with wonder- 
ment, as if for the first time con- 
scious of their possession. 

"You had better go back to 
your mother." 

" No, no," she shook her head 
persistently, and approaching 
closer took a piece of my gown in 
her hand to hang on to and as- 
sist her progress with. 

"Then come along, Eose, you 
may walk with me." 

"Whar you gwine? to uncla 

Signifying my ignorance of this 
venerable gentleman, she inform- 
ed me that he lived in such a di- 
rection, the way we were pursu- 
ing at present. 

I had started from the kitchen 
door and pursued the path through 
the yard belonging to it till I 
reached the farmyard gate. It 
was not fit for a lady's feet to 
tread, and I picked my way along 
with difficulty through the filth 
till I came to an immense pile of 
it near the gate, where a rooster 
clapped his wings and crowed 
lustily. My strange appearance, 
too frightened away a 'vj^hole flock 
of turkeys that were roosting 
around a well, which was partly 
broken down and much dilapida- 
ted otherwise. It is a blessing 
to have something to do, I thought. 
What would I do here without it? 

Going through the gate I en- 
tered the green field. There also 


Mary Ashhurton. 


destruction had commenced its 
work, for a whole drove of pigs 
were busily rooting there, and 
the cows had broken through the 

A bad prospect for wheat this 
year, and I shook my wise head. 
There's no time for you to senti- 
mentalize over its verdant beau- 
ties, Mary. Life is becoming yet 
more practical to you, and the 
dreams of youth are fulfilling 
themselves strangely, in the neces- 
sity of real life. 

Here Eose deserted my gown 
and ran after a squealing pig, 
which she caught and brought to 
me, struggling in her arms. This 
aroused the mother, who ran 
snorting terrifically towards us. 
I seized the child, who had let the 
pig go, and ran swiftly down 
the path to a small tenement I 
perceived at its termination, reach- 
ing the door just in time to close 
it on the angry animal. Looking 
around to see where I was, I 
found myself in a small cabin dim 
and obscure with smoke. Two 
ancient negroes were shaking 
with the ague by the fire, while a 
third paused in the act of placing 
a stew pan on the coals to stare 
at me. A great high bedstead 
occupied one-half of the room, 
nearly, and with three wooden 
chairs, a clock and a small table 
constituted its furniture. Two or 
three old ragged garments stufied 
in the window to supply the place 
of the broken glass, but imper- 
fectly kept the wind out. I knew 
what it was, — Mr. Chauncey's 
cabin for the superannuated ser- 
vants belonging to the estate. 

"Sarvent, missus." 
YOL. V. NO. 11. 

"So you live here? Are you 

"Mairster was very kind and 
always had us seen to, but since 
these times, all's out o' sorts, and 
we wid 'em, so we gets along bad 

"I will have you attended to. 
Come up to the house for what 
you want and you shall have it." 

" Casy won't give us nuffln; 
she's mighty cross and gin me 
broomstick tother day." 

I could scarcely forbear laugh- 
ing as the picture of the cook pur- 
suing the poor old creature and 
his lugubrious countenance with 
a broomstick presented itself, but 
it was shamefully cruel conduct 
in her, and should never be done 
again, I determined. 

I sent one of them out to sur- 
vey the premises, and ascertain- 
ing that the dangerous object had 
left for other parts and was quiet- 
ly rooting in the meadow below, 
I ventured out again with the at- 
tendant Eose. 

"Uncle Pete's potater patch," 
she informed me. Behind the 
house sloped their little vegetable 
garden down to the meadow, 
where cabbages and potatoes en- 
livened the yellow bank that de- 
scended just there, a heap of clay 
in the surrounding verdure. A 
stagnant pool, over which swarm- 
ed myriads of green flies, greeted 
my nostrils on turning in that di- 
rection, accounting very plausibly 
for the prevalent ague and fever. 

" Where does that come from?" 
I asked, turning to the door again 
and pointing to the offensive ob- 

" DatI oh! dat's the slops, miss. 
We pours 'em out dar." 



Mary Ashburton. 


" Did you always do it?" 

"No, marm," replied uncle 
Pete, who was spokesman, his face 
as wrinkled as a withered apple, 
his head as white as a sheet. 
"Marsler was mighty perticler 
afore dese times, and used to 
come round 'ere 'amost ebery 
evenin' to see 'bout us. Den we 
didn't have der ager so nuther, 
but we got sick and all got wrong 
togeder, so I spose we'll die now, 
our time's cum, praps." 

"However that may be," I re- 
plied smiling, " there is no use to 
hasten it, when proper measures 
can be used for making the place 
healthier. The filth around the 
door must be cleared away and 
I'll see that you have proper 
food. Come and ask me for what- 
ever you want." 

"Thank you, missus." Uncle 
Pete made me a profound bow, 
informing me that uncle Jake and 
uncle Eben were equally obliged 
but could not express their thanks, 
on account of the chattering of 
their jaws at present. So I left, 
pursuing my walk around the 
field, finding everywhere much to 
be seen to, and wondering how I 
could get it done. To speak to 
him I was afraid, yet I did not like 
to pursue my plans without his 
knowledge or concurrence. I knew 
so well how they could be done, 
and now was the time to reclaim 
the place from ruin. What would 
he say, were I to ask him about 
these matters? Would he con- 
sider it presumption, usurpation 
of his rights, or an indelicate as- 
sumption of authority on the 
strength of the money expended 
by my father? Whatever he 
thinks or says, I must nerve my- 

self to the effort, if I am to do 
him any good, save him from 

I finished my walk around the 
field, and returned to the house 
through the park, then seated 
myself in the front porch with 
Rose on a step below me. The 
child seemed to have taken a 
fancy to me, and I was glad of it;, 
anything like affection to the 
lonely, unloved bride was wel- 
come to her then. 

I sat there wondering what he 
would say to me if he came. 
Would it strike him painfully 
that a stranger sat there as if 
awaiting his return, where she 
would have sat had she gone there, 
welcoming him with her beautiful 
smile and winning grace, and re- 
ceiving his warm kisses after an 
absence that was all too long for 
him, separated from her? With 
this thought at each figure that 
appeared to be approaching, I 
shrank back nervously, and the 
sight of him nearing the house, 
would have made me rush in and 
hide my unwelcome presence from 

However, it was midnight be- 
fore he came, and I heard his 
door close upon his footsteps. He 
was weary, and the cries and 
groans of the preceding night did 
not smite upon my anxious, 
listening ear as then. When I 
sent up to tell him that break- 
fast was ready, the next morning, 
the old waiter whose name was 
Tom, replied, 

"He's comin' down, madam, 
will be here directly." 

My heart beat violently as it 
always did when he approached. 


Mary Ashburton. 


when I heard his foot on the 

He came in and bowed to me 
with ceremonious politeness, and 
then took his seat at the table. 
He looked so wretched; it almost 
maddened me to see him so. It 
was as when you witness the 
dying agonies of one tenderly be- 
loved; in such mortal sufiering, 
yet skill has failed, love has noth- 
ing more to do, nothing but to 
look until yovir own anguish 
equals that of the dying. We 
ate in silence. How could he 
utter commonplaces when his 
heart was broken? and I fully 
entered into his feelings in all 

Yet I must make that dreaded 
effort for his own sake. I cannot 
make improvements without con- 
sulting him. As he arose from 
the table, I did so too and ar- 
rested his steps as he was leaving 
the room. 

"Mr. Chauncey," — my heart 
failed me, and the words died 
upon my lips. 

He heard me and turned around 

"Did you speak to me?" with 
his stern eyes full on my face. 

I musi speak then. "I wished 
to consult you about something. 
There is much to be done here, 
but I do not like to attempt it 
without your concurrence" — 

" Do as you please," he replied 
quickly, interrupting me, "It's all 
your own; do with it as you 

"Not mine, but yours, — yours — 
all yours." I cried. But he was 
gone, did not even hear my last 
words. I threw myself in a 

chair and indulged in a passion- 
ate fit of weeping. 

So he would regard all my ef- 
forts for his welfare as selfish, 
vulgar pretension upon my own 
account. It seems so useless to 
work, — but cheer up, Mary, nerve 
your arm for duty, and leave the 
rest to God. 

Keceiving strength and comfort, 
I set to work again. He was out 
of the house all that day, so I 
could do much without fear of 
disturbing him, and drove thought 
away in vigorous effort to restore 
the Grove to its former state of 
neatness and elegance. 

In flitting along the passage up 
stairs, I passed his door. It was 
slightly ajar, and for the first 
time, I hesitatingly ventured in. 
Half frightened, I withdrew my 
steps, then, growing bolder, went 
in farther, until I stood in the 
centre and looked around me. 

It was a commodious apart- 
ment, elegantly, tastefully fur- 
nished, a mother's hand plainly 
seen in the comforts of its ar- 
rangement, and his own refined 
taste in the selection of its orna- 
ments. Two or three exquisite 
paintings hung upon the walls, 
besides innumerable engravings 
and statuettes; books lay scattered 
about in the disorder of these 
later times, when, what had 
pleased his eye and gratified his 
taste, had become indifferent to 
him. An exquisite writing-table, 
inlaid with mother-of-pearl, oc- 
cupied one corner, but it was 
stained as if an ink- stand had 
been suddenly thrown down, and 
the contents emptied over it, 
while the paper and pens were 
strewn carelessly about as if he 


3IaTy AslibuTton. 


did not care what became of them, 
now that the charm had de- 
parted from his existence. I 
moved about lightly among the 
treasures of his youth, picking 
some up from the dusty floor, and 
tenderly wiping the dust from 
them, restoring others to their 
places, as far as I dared, for I 
was fearful of his noticing the 
change, and being angry at the 
intrusion. Such little things as I 
could do for his comfort, I ac- 
complished, so that he would not 
see what had been done, yet be 
benefited by it: such as smooth- 
ing his pillow, putting clean, cool 
linen upon it, and arranging arti- 
cles upon his toilet table. 

I trembled for fear he might re- 
turn and find me there, darting to 
the door at every sound and look- 
ing anxiously down the passage; 
almost equally afraid of being 
caught by the servants, — there in 
Mr. Chauncey's room. 

As I went out I met Melissa at 
the door, and flushed crimson as 
she looked at me in a startled 
way, but quickly recovering my- 
self I said quietly, 

" Mr. Chauncey's room is some- 
what disordered. Would he let 
you clean it, Melissa?" 

" He wouldn't let none of us go 
in thar, madam, 'cept to make his 
bed sometimes, that is, when he's 
in it. When he's out he don't 
keer what we do; he don't keer 
for nothin'." 

" Would he mind, do you think, 
ifl had it fixed?" 

"Laws-a-mercy, madam, I don't 
think he'd know it even; he don't 
notice nothin'. I wish poor young 
marster was like himself," 

"Aye," I sighed, and left her. 

having been drawn into this con- 
versation more as a relief to my 
embarrassment than because I de- 
sjred or had intended it. 

Thus passed one day after an- 
other. Since he had waived all 
interest in his afiairs and had left 
me to do as I pleased, I proceeded 
with energy to repair the dama- 
ges that ruin had wrought in that 
formerly highly cultivated place. 
Consulting my father, I drew 
much information from his ex- 
perience, and acted upon his ad- 
vice which was invaluable to me 
at that period. A sufticient time 
had not elapsed since the elder 
Mr. Chauncey's careful superin- 
tendence of the farming opera- 
tions, for us to be irremediably 
behindhand, and a vigorous hand 
might do much for next year, and 
some little for this. As much of 
the ground as I could, I turned 
into a garden for late vegetables, 
resolving, with a secret blush at 
the expedient I was obliged to re- 
sort to in giving the proud name 
of Chauncey such associations, to 
sell my crop at the county market 
town. The need of ready money 
perplexed me much. It was time 
that the servants had their sum- 
mer clothing prepared, and all 
was yet to be done; no money to 
do it with. Then many of them 
were a dead expense upon the 
property— able to work, but there 
was not work enough for them to 
have suitable employment, where 
the family was so small and re- 
quired so little at their hands. — 
They lolled about listlessly all 
day, sleeping in the sun or play- 
ing with the children. This was 
the puzzle— how to get rid of 
them. I could hire them out, but 


Mary Ashburton. 


what would Alfred say? What 
would he think of my sending his 
old family servants out from their 
old home upon the mercy of a 
world they knew nothing of ? yet 
he could not stand it. I could 
make nothing, not even the ends 
meet, while a number of idle, use- 
less people were supported on the 
estate — a part of which only had 
been redeemed from debt, while it 
was my hope and special ambi- 
tion to save the rest from being 
partitioned off from us, leaving 
but a third of what had once be- 
longed to the Chauncey property. 

Upon consulting mother, she 

" Why don't you ask Mr. Chaun- 
cey about it? He could hardly 
object where it's so much to his 

There was the stumbling-block 
between mother and myself. I 
could not enter into explanation, 
and she would not tacitly under- 
stand, so I did not go home often 
on account of that. The subject 
that was upon the lips, in the 
hearts of both uppermost when 
we met, was a sealed one between 
us, so there was mutual restraint. 
The moment I perceived those 
dreaded questions approaching, 
questions about Alfred and his 
present state of mind, whether he 
noticed me or not, I arose to go, 
or quickly changed the subject, 
so I was seldom troubled with 
them, though he was always in 
our thoughts when we were to- 
gether. Nor did my parents go 
often to the Grove. Mother had 
more to do now that I had left 
home; then I think she was afraid 
of Alfred and dreaded meeting: 

him even in her very occasional 

" I wonder what he'd a done," 
she said in a tone of indignation, 
" if all this had happened after 
his marriage, and he'd a had a 
fine lady wife on his hands." 

" He would have worked and 
supported her," I replied gravely. 

" Much good she'd a done him, 
then," answered mother, con- 
temptuously, "I wonder if she'd 
a tried as you have, nor would'nt 
a known how, if she had." 

As Destiny had directed mat- 
ters differently, I could not re- 
ply, but could not help wonder- 
ing with her, what the superb 
Adele would have done with a 
poor husband. I will not be un- 
charitable, — it might have called 
her out from self and given a new 
and loftier bias to her character. 
I did ask him about the ser- 
vants, for I could not tell what to 
do. He was entering the hall 
door, his hair hanging wild and 
loose, under a slouch hat that 
half concealed his features, as he 
came in dripping with rain. 

"Mr. Chauncey, I wished to 
speak with you about something." 

He took his hat off and bowed. 
I had, with difficulty, raised my 
courage up to the required height, 
but when he looked at me in that 
way, those dark, searching eyes 
of his, between the long hair that 
fell, in wild, tangled curls almost 
to his shoulders, I was confused 
at once, and unable to express 
myself as I wished. I never will 
be able to make him think better 
of me, I thought bitterly. 

" Mr. Chauncey, indeed, I 
don't like to do these things with- 
out asking you about them — that 


Mary Ashhurton. 


is — I mean to say— I — I — was 
thinking " — 

"Well," he said with a slight 
curl of the lip, and gesture of im- 
patience as if wishing to go, "did 
you wish to speak to me?" 

" I was going to say that there 
were a great many servants here, 
so many more than I know what 
to do with, or can find clothes for, 
while they eat up all that is raised 
here, and — and, I was going to 
ask you about it, — if I might hire 
some of them out. I do not like 
to do it, as they are your old 
family servants, but under present 
circumstances, would you ob- 

He had fixed his steady gaze 
upon me, to my great discomfi- 
ture, while I made this speech, 
but when I ceased, he merely 
smiled a sort of scornful smile, 
waved his hand as if to say, "I 
told you before to do as you 
pleased with your own, why 
trouble me about what does not 
■concern me? only do not disturb 
me on these matters again; I 
have nothing to do with them," 
then proceeded on his way up 
stairs, where I heard him close, 
and lock, the door upon himself 

Useless! I sighed, I must pro- 
ceed without him, then. How 
wet and cold he looked, poor 

I had a fire made in his room, 
against his return, and had drawn 
an arm-chair with a dressing 
gown thrown over it, before the 
cheerful blaze, hoping that he 
would notice these little atten- 
tions to his comfort and think, — 
perhaps, — that it was my work, 
that the unloved one had cared 

for him as far as her poor hand 

So I crept up to the room near 
his, and listened to his move- 
ments, to see if he, at least, made 
use of the articles I had ar- 
ranged for his comfort, and if he 
had thrown aside those dripping 

All was silent except an oc- 
casional start or so. As I could 
ascertain nothing concerning the 
source of anxiety, I left the 
neighborhood as noiselessly as I 
had approached it. 

The first Sunday after my mar- 
riage, — I remember it so well— as 
we sat at the breakfast table, the old 
waiter said something about its 
being Sunday morning. 

"Sunday?" exclaimed Alfred, 
quick!}' turning arouud, " so it is. 
Are the horses in good condi- 

"Yes, sir. Perhaps the lady 
would like to go to church," said 
Tom, with his stately, old-time 

"Did you wish to go?" and 
Alfred looked at me. 

"Yes," I replied hesitatingly, 
" and you — will you go?" 

"I ! no, no," he answered 
quickly. "Stay — yes, I cannot 
permit you to be subjected to such 
remarks as would necessarily fol- 
low my absence. I will go." 

" Don't mind the world for me, 
if it causes you pain to go there," 
I replied, but so low that he did 
not hear me, and was gone be- 
fore I had finished speaking. 

With that same courteousness, 
he handed me in and out of the 
carriage, ever mindful of the gen- 
tleman, even when most dis- 
tracted with sorrow, and main- 


Mary Ashhurton. 


taining a grave, dignified, de- 
meanor in church. 

How I was stared at! I felt 
the steady gaze that was directed 
at me even through my down- 
cast lids, but left immediately 
with him after church, before they 
had had time to gratify their cu- 
riosity further. I felt so strange- 
ly in the Grove pew, seated where 
Mrs. Chauncey had been so short 
a time before, with her fashion- 
able guests. Certainly it was not 
comfortable. Had he not been 
there I should much have prefer- 
red my old seat with my parents 
across the aisle, beneath the win- 
dow, where I had looked at him 
when a boy, my wandering eyes 
attracted into steady admiration 
by his remarkable beauty. I 
glanced at him furtively to no- 
tice the contrast between him, as 
he now was and then. Alas ! 
a great change had taken place. 
In lieu of the boyish frankness 
and ingenuousness of countenance, 
smiling kindly on all the world, a 
grave, weary looking man sat, 
worn with trouble, and frowning 
gloomily upon life and everything 
connected with it. 

As I came out leaning upon his 
arm, a strange sensation thrilling 

at my heart as I did so, two or 
three pressed forward to congrat- 
ulate us with well-meaning or 
officious kindness. But upon 
looking in our faces, they drew 
back with the words half uttered, 
half frozen upon their lips. Al- 
fred looked like a cold, gloomy 
statue; I hung, trembling and 
timid, upon his arm, and though 
I smiled and held out my hand 
there was not ease or warmth of 
manner sufficient to justify further 

I thanked him in my heart for 
the self denial that had taken him 
out of himself to think of me at 
that time, but was almost equally 
uncomfortable as though he had 
not gone and I had been subjected 
to whispered wonderings and un- 
favorable comments. These he 
had spared me by his thoughtful- 
ness; but from internal discom- 
fort he was not able to save me 
the suffering of Ms suffering and 
knowledge that for all the love I 
bore him, he not only was indiffer- 
ent to me, but most probably re- 
garded me with aversion as one 
who had taken, all unsought, the 
place that should have been oc- 
cupied by one loved and honored. 
(to be continued.) 


The American Conflict. 




That future historians may 
know the truth, Mr, Greeley gives 
a table, purporting to be the sta- 
tistics of the numbers and propor- 
tions of men furnished by the in- 
dividual States, during the war of 
1776. This table is in exact ac- 
cordance with all that he and all 
his associates, such as Helper, 
Draper, and others have usually 
presented to the world, when on 
the subject of slavery, or any 
question to which the North and 
South were parties. I will not 
dissect this frame, but only say 
that the number he gives to South 
Carolina, for the whole seven 
years' war, was actually raised in 
that State at one single call of 
General Rutledge, at the begin- 
ning of the war! With this, as 
sufficient, I dismiss this carica- 
ture of statistics. 

Mr. Greeley says of the fugitive 
slave clause, "there was nothing 
mutual in the obligation it sought 
to impose. Nor could any one 
gravely insist that the provision 
for the mutual rendition of slaves 
was essential to the completeness 
of the Federal pact. The old 
Confederation had knoion nothing 
like it.* Here are three distinct 
assertions. 1. That there was 
nothing mutual between the 
North and the South, requiring 
the Fugitive Slave act. 2. That 
such act was not necessary to the 
completeness of the pact. 3. "The 
old Confederation had known 

nothing like it." We shall now 
show that all three of these as- 
sertions are totally untrue. .Mr. 
Greeley* had just quoted from the 
Articles of the Ordinance of 1787, 
by which the North- West terri- 
tory was ceded by the South, to 
the United States, showing that 
it was the "charter of compact," 
and " shall stand as fundamen- 
tal CONDITIONS between the thir- 
teen States, and those newly de- 
scribed UNALTERABLE, but by 
the joint consent of the United 
States, in Congress assembled, 
and of the ][)artiGular ^State with- 
in which such particular altera- 
tion is proposed to be made." 

Though these pacts were not 
passed then, he says they were 
afterwards, i. e., 1787, with little 
alteration. But when they were 
passed, our author says, the act 
concludes with "six unalterable 
Articles of Perpetual compact be- 
tween the above parties. In it, 
he says, was the Fugitive Slave 
Law. He is right, as every one 
at all read in those matters knows. 
It was adopted, Mr. Greeley says, 
with a unanimous vote of the 
States present. This was at the 
very time the famous Convention 
was framing the Constitution. 
Mr. Greeley emphasizes the words, 
that this compact was " per- 
petual " and " unalterable " 
to show the wrong of secession. 
Very well. Yet this compact had 
two express stipulations: 1. That 
not more than Jive States should 

* Vol. 1. 47. 

* Vol. 1. 39. 


The American Conflict. 


be made out of the territory 
ceded. 2. That all fugitive slaves 
in the territory or States (after 
their admission) should be re- 
turned to their owners. See now 
what follows. They proceeded at 
once to carve out ten States, in 
utter violation of this " unalter- 
able" and "perpetual" compact. 
They failed to complete this, and 
finally did carve out sei"e?i States. 
That compact, he says, stipula- 
ted that fugitive slaves should be 
returned. It was "perpetual" 
and "unalterable," quotes Mr. 
Grreeley. In making the Consti- 
tution, they simply incorporated 
that already existing " perpetual" 
"unalterable" article of pact. 
They were under solemn obliga- 
tion to retain that ordinance. 
Yet, Mr. Greeley says, Mr. But- 
ler, of South Carolina, intro- 
duced it as a new and unjust 
claim. Kay, he says the Con- 
federacy had never known such 
an act! Yet, he had shown in 
the same volume, at length, that 
it was an express and leading 
part of their "perpetual com- 
pact." Now, who will say Mr. 
Greeley is not the man to write 
history — yea, and to collect and 
transmit the proper materials to 
the future historian, by which 
future ages may have a fair and 
impartial view of " the great 
conflict ?" 

Says Mr. Greeley, in the Tri- 
hune of September 1867— "We 
always distrust the logic which is 
based on a /aZse/ioocZ. " That was 
a strange and new freak that sud- 
denly passed over the philosopher 
of the drab coat. Our historian 
italicises a number of words as 
the strongest proof of the per- 

petuity of the Union, in article 1. 
of the Ordinance first proposed — 
"they shall /orerer remain a part 
of the United States "—" per- 
petual compact." Yet, he knows 
that they were altered, then 
abolished. That the " perpetual 
compact" and "forever," all 
went by the board in less than 
half a year — in three months' 
time! Yery short and unsub- 
stantial "forevers" "perpetuals" 
and " unalterables " were they. 
We could quote fifty pages from 
the Madison Papers, from the 
speeches of the framers of the 
Constitution, to the effect of the 
following, had we the space. — 
"Mr. Gerry, of Massachusetts, 
urged the indecency and per- 
nicious tendency of dissolving, in 
so slight a manner, the solemn 
obligations of the Articles of Con- 
federation. If nine out of thirteen 
can dissolve the Compact, six out 
of nine will be just as able to dis- 
solve the new one hereafter."* 
Nine did dissolve it, and it perish- 
ed. So all of Mr. Greeley's 
italics and arguments, on that 
point, with the Drapers, Motleys 
and Bancrofts, are trash and 
balderdash, and Greeley knows it. 
Let us see now if Mr. Greeley real- 
ly "suspected the logic founded on 
a falsehood" touching his precious 
idol— the slavery question. That 
will try him indeed, as Dogberry 
says, "if there be any allegiance 
in him"— to truth. We will give 
him a fair hearing here also. 

Mr. Greeley declares that con- 
curring circumstances and the 
new principles evolved 1776 " had 
pretty thoroughly cured the North 

* Madison Papers, 3. 15-3S. 


The, American Covflict. 


of all attachment to, or disposi- 
tion to justifi/ slavery before the 
close of the Revolutionary war."* 
Of the " framers" he says "their 
judgments condemned, and their 
consciences reprobated it" (sla- 
very) J. " Slavery would have 
found no lodgment in it (the Con- 
stitution;) but already the whijo 
of Disunion was brandished 
[Greeley is such an Addison or 
Livy in style, these classic beau- 
ties must be endured,] and the 
fatal necessity of compromise 
made manifest. The Convention 
would have at once and forever 
prohibited, as far as our country 
and her people were concerned, 
the African Slave Trade; but 
South Carolina and Georgia were 
present. . . . 'No slave-trade, 
no Union!' . . . Virginia and 
her more Norther )i Sisters were 
more than willing to ^nohihit at 
ONCE the further importation of 
slaves."! It is not too much to 
say that the writer of that, Mr. 
Greeley, knew that he was pen- 
ning a deliberate vmtruth. But 
we shall see. He adds: "The 
conscience of the North was quieted 
by embodying a promise that 
Congress might interdict the for- 
eign slave-trade after the expira- 
tion of twenty years,"! We shall 
soon see how that conscience was 
soothed^ but by a motive, an opiate 
as different from the above, as the 
spirit of heaven is from the feel- 
ings of the scoffing fiend that 
scowled about the walls of Eden. 
He also tells us that slave traders 
in the Korth, 1787 (eighty years 

* Conflict, 1.37. 
Ibid, 43-i. 
Conflict, 1,4.5. 
Ibid 45-lJ. 

ago) " were never held in good re- 

To quote all the speeches of the 
leaders of the North in that Con- 
vention, when framing the Con- 
stitution, that stamps all the above 
as utterly false, would be to fill 
whole chapters. Before going to 
that Convention, let us quote a 
few leaders of an earlier date, 
while fully baptized in the spirit 
of 177.6. On Friday, July 12, 
1776, only eight days after the 
Jubilee over the Declaration of 
Independence, Chase observes "that 
negroes are property, and as such 
cannot be distinguished from 
layids, &c., held in those States 
where there are few slaves" — 
Northern States. f He then com- 
pares the matter to "taxing as 
. . . cattle." "The negroes in 
fact should not be considered as 
members of the State, more than 
cattle, and that they have no more 
interest in it. "t Did Justice Ta- 
ney's Dred Scott decision equal 
that ? 

John Adams — [ct tu Brute !) ob- 
served " that it was of no conse- 
quence by what name you call 
your people, whether by that of 
freemen or slaves. ... In some 
countries the laboring poor . . . 
were called slaves. . . . That the 
condition of the laboring poor in 
most countries — that of the fisher- 
men, particularly, of the Northern 
States is as abject as that of 
slaves. '>^^ That is the famous Pu- 
ritan, John Adams, 2nd President 
of the United States, the son of 

* Ibid, 255. 

t Madison Papers, 1. 28. 

X Madison Papers, 29. 

§ Madison Papers, 1, 29 30. 


The American Conflict. 


Pennsylvania's great light, Jas. 
Wilson, afterwards, Iier ablest 
man in the Convention of 1787, 
feared " the Southern Colonies 
would have all the benefit of 
slaves " — the Korth have to bear 
the "burden of defence." He 
spoke of "other kinds of prop- 
erty," while the famous "Doctor 
Witherspoon," of Kew Jersey, 
answered, "It has been objected 
(by the Korth) that negroes eat 
the food of freemen, and therefore 
should be taxed; horses^ also, eat 
&c., and should be taxed."* Yes, 
yes; they were against negroes, 
because they had mouths, and ate 
food. A Yankee knows what 
money and expenses mean. — 
Finally, John Adams cries out, 
" Eeason, justice, and equity 
never had weight enough on the 
face of the earth to govern the 
councils of men. It is ikterest 
ALONE which does it."t Thus 
talked the great Northern sages 
of '76. Let us now hear how 
they talked in 1787, while framing 
the Constitution. 

Mr. Eufus King, of Massachu- 
setts, that colony of " conscience," 
was careful to tell that Conven- 
tion that '■'■ Bevenue was the object 
of the General Legislature. "J Mr. 
Gorham had said the same thing 
— being of the same State. On 
the same page with this Messrs. 
Butler and Pinckney moved to re- 
quire "fugitive slaves and ser- 
vants to be delivered up like crim- 

Mr. "Wilson (leader of the Pa. 
delegation.) "This would oblige 

* Madison Papei-s 1. 32. 
t Madison Papers 1. 36. 
% Madison Papers, 3, 1447. 

the Executive of the State to do 
it, at the public expense.''^ 

Mr. Sherman, (of Connecticut,) 
" saw no more propriety in the 
public seizing and surrendering a 
slave or servant, than a horse.'''''^' 
So ran the debate — this being the 
exact report. Previous to this, 
speaking of the slave trade, Mr. 
Sherman, though opposed to it on 
economical grounds, as they had 
argued that "as the public good 
did not require it to be taken from 
them — right to import — ... he 
thought it best to leave the mat- 
ter as we find it."t Ellsworth, 
the next greatest light of Kew 
England there, argued that they 
could not consider it " in a moral 
light. . . . Let us not inter- 
meddle." Gerry, of Massachu- 
setts, thought "we had nothing 
to do with the conduct of the 
States as to slaves. "J Dickinson, 
of Delaware, then counted a 
Korthern State, said, " The true 
question was, whether the nation- 
al happiness would be promoted 
or impeded by the importation."! 
Eufus King, of Massachusetts, af- 
terwards, 1819, U. S. Senator from 
New York, and authou of the 
Higher Law doctrine, (though he 
was but its expression as the type 
of New England life) "thought 
the subject should be considered 
in a political light only. . . . He 
remarked, on the exemption of 
slaves from duty, " whilst every 
other import [negroes regarded 
simply as ' chatties and other im- 
ports'] was subjected to it, as an 
inequality that could not fail to 

* Madison Papers, 1447-S. 
t Madison Papers, 3, 1390. 
X Madison Papers, 1394. 
§ Madison Papers, 1394. 


The American Co-nflict. 


strike the commercial sagacity of 
the Northern and Middle States." 
Gouverneur Morris, of Pennsylva- 
nia, thought " these things may 
form a bargain among the North- 
ern and Southern States."* — 
Again, said Koger Sherman: "Let 
every State import what it pleas- 
es. The morality or wisdom of 
slavery are considerations belong- 
ing to the States themselves. — 
What enriches a 2xirt enriches the 
i<;/ioZe."t These were the re- 
marks made, this the light in 
which they viewed it. Let us 
now see the vote of this great body 
on the slave-trade. Some were 
for stopping the slave-trade at 
once — Col. Mason, Madison and 
others from the South. Some 
were for letting it alone, some for 
regulating it as a revenue, and 
some for a limited extension of it. 
It was proposed to let it go on 
till 1800, then it should cease. II 
was moved to extend this limita- 
tion eight years— to 1808. Madi- 
son, of Virginia, opposed this 
very earnestly, as did Mason also, 
contending that to 1800 was too 
long. But when it was proposed 
to add eight years more to the 
time allowed for the trade, " Mr. 
Gorham, of Massachusetts, sec- 
onded the motion. "J On the mo- 
tion, which passed in the affirma- 
tive, — (they stood thus— for ex- 
tending the Slave Trade to 1808.) 
New Hampshire, Massachusetts, 
Connecticut, Maryland North 
Carolina, South Carolina, Geor- 
gia, aye — 7. New Jersey, Penn- 
sylvania, Delaware, Virginia, 
no— 4."? New York and Khode 

* Madison Papers, 139(1. 
t Madison Papers, 1399. 
j Madison Papers, 3, 14'i9. 
§ Madison Papers, U'27. 

Island were absent. (Maryland 
is omitted in the vote, but page 
1429 on same issue, she appears, 
and the figure 7 shows she was 
accidentally omitted.) Thus the 
whole body of New England 
States present — and only one was 
absent — voted to prolong the 
slave-trade, purely as a commer- 
cial interest^ while Virginia, Dela- 
ware, and a number of the dele- 
gates of Maryland and North 
Carolina, voted against it and op- 
posed it. " Mr. King, of Massa- 
chusetts, and Mr. Langdon,of New 
Hampshire, considered this ['prop- 
erty in man'] as the price of the 
first part."* Col. Mason, of Vir- 
ginia, wished to tax the slave- 
trade so heavily as to discourage 
it. But Sherman, of Connecti- 
cut, observed that " the smallness 
of the duty showed revenue to be 
the object, not the discouragement 
of the institution."! As a con- 
firmation of this, it was unani- 
mously voted to make the tax ten 
dollars, so as not to discourage 
importation. Nor did these men 
of soothed consciences stop here. 
The whole New England delega- 
tion present— and only one was 
absent — voted for the fugitive 
slave law in Congress, 1793, when 
the new government was put in 
operation. There was not a 
word or hint against it in all New 
England. Sherman, of Connec- 
ticut, was on the Committee that 
reported that law. Gerry, of Mas- 
sachusetts, voted for it. Only 
five votes were cast against it 
from the whole body of Northern 
members in Congress. Madison, 
King, Gerry, R. Morris, O. EUs- 

* Madison Papers, 1429. 
t Madison Papers, 14'29. 


The American Conflict. 


worth were of that Congress. The 
Supreme Courts of Massachusetts, 
of New York, and of the United 
States all sanctioned the same 

It was after King, Wilson and 
G. Morris failed to carry some of 
their favorite commercial "ad- 
vantages in return," and "prefer- 
ential distinctions in commerce," 
as King saidf that " the admis- 
sion of slaves was a most grating 
circumstance to his mind."+ — 
Gouverneur Morris, of Pennsylva- 
nia, now became terribly wrought 
upon, as to his conscience, and 
its qualms "horribly shook his 
disposition." He suddenly had 
ghostly visions of chained negroes 
all crowded together in the holds 
of miserable ships, and it so har- 
rowed up his soul, that he dis- 
covered slavery to be "a nefari- 
ous institution." He never could 
"conchr in upholding domestic 
slavery." He cries out in holy 
disgust— but his words take us 
back as eflfectually as the — "toe are 
all 2)Oor critters," did the widow 
Bedott — " And what is the pro- 
posed compensation to the North- 
ern States, for a sacrifice of every 
principle of right, of every impiclse 
of humanity?" He then finds 
that the great evil is, they are to 
aid in bearing a part of the ex- 
penses that insurrections and 
troubles. South, may incur. § Col. 
Mason and Madison, of Virginia, 
were the men who looked at the 
question from a moral and hu- 
mane point of view, and assaulted 

* Southern Review, 1867, Baltimore, 
by Prof. A. T. Bledsoe, LL. D. 
t Madison Papers, 2. 1056. 
X Madison Papers, 3. 1261. 
§ Madison Papers, 3. 1263-4. 

slavery, and the trade, with a 
zeal unknown in the North in 
that day*. 

In view of all this, had Mr. 
Greeley possessed one particle of 
honesty as a writer, when com- 
piling so large a work, and find- 
ing time to devote whole chap- 
ters to obscure individuals, he 
would have at least mooted the 
question of the propriety of, in 
whole or part, compensating the 
owners of slaves, or reasoned 
about the condition of things 
after venturing to let loose four 
millions of slaves, degraded, ig- 
norant, and helpless. Any man 
that had a particle of moral hon- 
esty as a writer, or any respect 
for the intellect and heart of his 
readers, would have fully dis- 
cussed these points. He would 
have looked the question fairly in 
the face. To unsettle the whole 
social and political system of an 
empire, derange the whole ma- 
chinery of government, society 
and commerce, were to Mr. 
Greeley, questions of not one- 
tenth the importance that at- 
taches to some horse-thief, or 
scoundrel, who, in addition to 
other crimes, should murder a 
family to rescue a negro. He 
never thinks it worth while to 
consider what was to be done 
with such a multitude, in setting 
them free. He never makes a 
particle of allowance for the only 
maxim, that is universally settled 
in political science, that interest 
governs a State, and to which no 
people on earth ever cling with 
such tenacity as the Korth, nor 
any political leader as unwaver- 
ingly as Mr. Greeley himself. 

* Madison Papers, 3, 1390-1. 


The American Conflict, 


'Jsox does he ever hint at the in- 
famous Indian Slave Trade the 
Puritans carried on for so many 
years, while professing to give a 
full history of slavery in this 
country. He never gives the 
South a particle of credit for the 
well known fact that thousands of 
the owners of slaves would have 
gladly given up their slaves, if they 
could have seen where they could 
be as happy as they were at home. 
And he never names or hints 
another fact of infinite importance 
here, namely, that the negro slave 
at the South was infinitely more 
happy, elevated, and blest, than 
he was in Africa. After all the 
light that Livingstone, Baker, and 
a host of others have thrown upon 
that benighted region, where ig- 
norance and slavery are at their 
depth, it becomes evident that 
Southern slavery was a Paradise 
of bliss in comparison. Honest 
historian! " Upright judge !" 
Pardon us, Mr. Greeley, but "we 
always distrust the logic which is 
based on a falsehood." "I 
thank thee, Jew, for that word." 
And who could have suspected 
that this renowned knight of the 
goose-quill would write such a 
cold, useless and contemptible a 
falsehood as the following? for 
here we may well adopt the Poet's 
thought — this was no game his 
arms to exercise. On the meet- 
ing of the Convention of 1787, 
Mr. Greeley says: "Franklin, 
then over eighty- one years of age, 
declined the chair (as President) 
on account of his increasing in- 
firmities; and, on Ids motion, 
George Washington was unani- 
mously elected President."* — 

"^» Conflict, 1. 43. '• 

Small as is* this sentence, it has 
several falsehoods in it, and is, 
besides, most contemptible. — 
Franklin was not present, in the 
body, that day, and could not 
have either declined a nomina- 
tion that was never pro2)osed, nor 
could he have nominated, " on 
his motion," Washington, when 
he, himself, was not there to do so. 
On account of his eminence, he 
would have been the next most 
proper person to be President, 
had not Virginia's son been there. 
But even then it could not have 
been proper altogether : for the 
Convention had been first pro- 
posed, first called, set on foot, by 
Virginia alone. She had, through 
Madison and Washington, 1781, 
first hinted and proposed such a 
measure. Then she was, by far, 
the largest and most important 
State. She was, therefore, en- 
titled to the honor of the Presi- 
dency. But the facts settle the 
matter. " Mr. Eobert Morris, of 
Pennsylvania, informed the mem- 
bers assembled, that, by the in- 
struction, and in behalf of the 
deputation of Pennsylvania, he 
proposed George Washington, 
Esq., Commander-in-Chief, for 
President of the Convention."* 
In a note it is said, " the Doctor 
(Franklin) was himself to have 
made the nomination of General 
Washington, but the state of the 
weather, and of his health, con- 
fined him to his house." Ac- 
cordingly his name does not stand 
on the roll as called that day. 
If Mr. Greely will resort to such 
mean little falsehoods as that, 
where he had all the facts open be- 
fore him, and if for such a, purpose, 
* Madison Papers, 2. Tiri. 



The American Conflict. 


and about such illustrious men, 
what can we expect of him on the 
great issues of the conflict? 

He says, Jefferson, being am- 
bassador abroad, during that time, 
took " no conspicuous, or decided 
part either for or against the Con- 
vention, in its infancy." On the 
contrary, he took the deepest in- 
terest, and his correspondence, as 
well as that of Madison, Mason, 
Randolph and others, shows the 
deep interest he took in its for- 
mation, and how he urged some 
of the very measures that were 
added as amendments. 

Again, say^ this Kemesis of 
Historians — "Mr. John A. Quin- 
cy . . . of Boston . . in- 
dulged in what resembled, very 
closely, a menace of contingent se- 
cession." Of the Hartford Con- 
vention he continues— it " evinced 
its discontent . . by a resort 
to rhetoric, which was denounced 
as tending to disunion, but which 
does not seem to warrant the im- 
putation."* "Resembled." Here 
are Quincy's words: " If this bill 
pass— admitting Louisiana as a 
State— it is my deliberate opinion 
that it is a virtual dissolution of 
the Union; that it will free the 
States from their moral obligation, 
and, as it will be the right of all, 
so it will be the duty of some, 
definitely to prepare for separa- 
tion, amicably if they can, violent- 
ly if they must." Mr. Plumer, 
(who had been in public life years 
before, being United States Sena- 
tor from New Hampshire, 1803, 
Governor for two terms consecu- 
tively after this, and who prepar- 
ed to write a history of the Uni- 
ted States,) himself at the time an 

» Conflict, 1. 85-6. 

ardent Federalist, adduces an ar- 
ray of proof that fills half of a 
huge volume about the size of 
Mr. Greeley's, bearing on the se- 
cession designs and plots of the 
New England States at that time. 
He shows beyond the powers of 
cavil that they openly spoke for 
secession, and passed resolutions 
looking directly to a withdrawal 
from the Union. And that we 
may see what Quincy meant in 
the above declaration in Congress 
in 1811, the Puritan Plumer says 
it was their intention "to forci- 
bly resist the laws of Congress."'-' 
He gives us the following from 
" the Federal Convention, held 
March 31, 1811, in Boston, which 
resolved that the non-intercourse 
law, just then passed, ' if persist- 
ed in, mwsi and will be resisted.' 
'Resistance,' said Dr. Parist, 
April 11, 1811, ' is our only secu- 
rity.' " He then quotes Josiah 
Quincy's speech above noticed. t 
Mr. Bradford wrote to Gerry at 
the same time that if the Con- 
gress persisted, " the New Eng- 
land States will rise in their wont- 
ed strength, and with the indig- 
nant feelings of 1775, sever them- 
selves from that part of the na- 
tion which wickedly abandons 
their rights and interests, "t He 
then analyzes the Hartford Con- 
vention, and shows beyond the 
shadow of a cavil that it deliber- 
ately resolved on secession, unless 
its demands were granted. If we 
had space, we could adduce, from 
this high New England authority, 
a long array of facts on these is- 
sues. Yet Mr. Greeley smoothes 

* Life of Plumer, 385. 
t Life of Plumer, 385. 
X Life of Plumer, 386. 


The American Conflict. 


over all these things in a stretch of 
twelve or fifteen half- column 
lines, treating it all as a little 
rhetorical flourish. 

But we are not done with this 
Achilles of the American press. 
He insinuates that our fathers 
consolidated the government, and 
rehashes the thousand-and-one 
times demolished sophistry of 
Northern federalist writers and 
speakers, that the preamble im- 
plies it, though the preamble was 
not made till all else was agreed 
upon, and a bare accommodation 
to the manner of ratification, since 
to say " we the States," enumer- 
ating them as was the plan drawn 
up, was liable to insuperable diffi- 
culties, as some might not ratify. 
He quotes the words of P. Henry, 
who, in a heated speech, tried to 
deter Virginia from ratifying the 
Constitution, and made the bold 
declaration so constantly quoted 
by consolidationists, but which 
Madison and others who framed 
the instrument showed at the 
time to have no such meaning. — 
Yet Greeley and his associates re- 
gard it as legitimate argument 
and unimpeachable logic, that 
when a body of able, learned, and 
cautious men frame a document, 
and make it so very different from 
what a consolidationist would, 
that it drives Hamilton out of the 
Convention in disgust, and arous- 
es the wrath of Kead, Wilson and 
King, to a furious pitch, it 
is still a consolidation, because 
one man who was not there at all, 
in his enthusiastic fury uses every 
weapon a fiery orator can com- 
mand, and seizes this among 
them to alarm the people. Nay, 
they think a man of Henry's very 

limited education, who never was 
given to rigid analysis, and who 
was not present, knew far better 
what the instrument was,than the 
astute Madison, Randolph, Ham- 
ilton, Pinckney, Wilson, Sher- 
man, Ellsworth, and Martin, 
with their illustrious compeers! 
Greely ought to write " full and 
impartial histories! " 

He then quotes one more — 
Washington — who said the end 
was the " consolidation of the 
Union." But Washington did 
not have a thing to do with its 
framing. He sat as its President, 
and never opened his mouth but 
once,* till all was done, and the 
Constitution had then been finish- 
ed and engrossed. But aside, a 
" consolidation of the Union'''' was 
infinitely different from a con- 
solidation of the States, the point 
Greeley contends for. 

But what will the reader say, 
when he learns that this whole 
thing is a sheer fabrication of Mr. 
Greeley's. In his note he says 
this language occurs "in the ad- 
dress of the Federal Convention, 
signed by Washington, as its 
President, September 17, 1787. "t 
Yet, on that day, they positively 
refused to have any "address" 
prepared, and a motion to that 
effect, was lost. They had for- 
merly voted to allow the Com- 
mittee of eleven to draw up an 
address, but it was not done. 
But the fitness of Mr. Greeley to 
write "a full and fair" history, 
will strike the reader with greater 
force still, as he advances. To 
prove consolidation, he quoted 
Hamilton, Wilson, and Madison, 

* MacTisoii Papers, 3. 1600 and note. 
t Conflict, 1. 82. 


The American Co'iiflict. 


in the Convention of '87, where 
the first, with Read also— a most 
inferior member — was for wiping 
out — "swallowing up" the State 
governments, Wilson for encroach- 
ing more on them, while he de- 
clares the one made would be en- 
croached on by the States, while 
Madison urged a modification of 
"Wilson's view mildly for a while, 
then gave it up. Yet, Mr. 
Greeley knew, if he ever read 
their proceedings, that when such 
hints were dropped, as repeatedly 
they were, a burst of indignation 
from the whole body of the Con- 
vention smothered it out. Four- 
fifths of the members, and every 
State would have indignantly re- 
pudiated any action that con- 
templated such a possibility. The 
adoption of such an article would 
have dissolved the Convention as 
a mob. And no State was so 
fierce in denunciation of such 
hints, as New York, Maryland, 
Connecticut, New Hampshire, and 
Delaware. He knows, also, that 
there could not have been found a 
corporal's guard of able men in 
any State of the Union that 
would have ratified the Constitu- 
tion, had any such principle been 
engrafted into it. Greeley says, 
in the face of these facts, that 
" History teaches . . . that 
it was the purpose of the framers 
of the Constitution to render the 
inhabitants of all the States, sub- 
stantially, and perpetually one 
people, . . . known to the 
rest of mankind, by a common 
national government. ' ' We know 
that this was the desire of some. 
But we know that it was not the 
faith of the framers of the Con- 
stitution. We can quote three 
YOL. Y. NO. II. 

hundred pages from their debates 
that shows the above statement 
to be devoid of a particle of truth. 
They all agreed that there were 
inseparable obstacles to a unity of 
interest, even among the little 
squad of thirteen States. The 
fierce encounters and efforts of 
each section, the one to obtain 
power over tariffs and commerce, 
the other to make secure her en- 
joyed rights, as well as the efforts 
of New England, and Pennsyl- 
vania, to crush the prospects of 
the West, show, beyond cavil, 
that they felt they were not one 
people. As to "national govern- 
ment," he knows that the Con- 
vention, with a unanimous vote, 
rejected the term. Yet, says Mr. 
Greeley, as " my plan does not con- 
template the INVENTION of any 
facts, 1 must, &c." Alas, for it, 
had he contemplated such inven- 
tion then ! Mr. Greeley makes 
a series of statements about John 
C. Calhoun, that set honor, truth, 
and honesty at utter defiance. 
He says, Calhoun was " the most 
thorough- going champion " of 
those loose constructions of the 
Constitution that clamored for 
national improvement at the pub- 
lic expense, high "Protection, 
Tariffs,".. &c. This is utterly 
false. He did give his influence 
for the tariff of '16, as he ex- 
plained, to remove our national 
debt, and happily and incidently, 
it would protect our oppressed 
manufacturers, for he was always 
most generous and broad in his 
views. But when in 1824 it was 
demanded as a bonus, when we 
needed no high tarifi", being quite 
out of debt, and yet still higher in . 
1828, it was infinitely different. — 



The American Conflkt. 


But Greeley is not satisfied with 
such slanders ou the South as he 
weaves in with this question — he 
must glorify Massachusetts at the 
expense of the records of Con- 
gress, the simplest facts of history, 
and the declarations of the "great 
expounder" of that noted State. 
" The Tariff of 1828— the highest 
and most protective ever adopted 
in this country — was passed by a 
Jackson Congress," of which, 
Greeley tells us, Van Buren, Silas 
"Wright, and " the Jackson ian 
leaders of Pennsylvania and Ohio 
were master-spirits."* Tins is 
true. " And thereby hangs a 
tale." That is, that the North, 
whether as Democrats, "Whigs, 
Federalists, "Know Nothing 
Americans," or Abolitionists, al- 
ways consolidated against the 
South in solid array, when ever 
any land, money, or any interest 
of the pocket was concerned. The 
record of Democracy North is 
little better than "Whiggery where 
ever Banks, Fisheries, Tarifts 
and admission of Southern States 
was on hand. " I thank thee, 
Jew, (I must repeat) for that 
word." "This Tariff imposed 
high duties on Iron, (to aid Penn- 
sylvania, but mainly to get her 
vote,) Lead, (to fool Missouri, and 
do her not a doit of good as it 
proved,) Hemp, (to wheedle Ken- 
tucky, with the same result as in 
Missouri,) "Wool, (to substantially 
aid Ohio, but mainly to plunder 
the South, by preventing foreign 
competition, as the negroes were 
the main consumers of wool, with 
the poor of the AVest, who were 
seduced by the lead and hemp de- 
lusion.) He says, as the result of 
* Conflict, 1. 91. 

this tariff, "the country exhibited 
a rapid growth." On the con- 
trary the records show that the 
South was utterly prostrated. — 
Men worth millions of real estate, 
and hundreds of thousands in 
lands and negroes, were unable to 
do more than clothe and feed 
them. Benton, the fierce enemy 
of slavery, shows, in vol. 1, of the 
United States Senate, that they 
were in a deplorable condition. — 
The figures and array of general 
statistics, adduced in Congress by 
Calhoun, showed this beyond con- 
troversy, although Clay had the 
brazen effrontery to say the South 
was prospering under it! And 
while Jackson had the eftrontery 
to publish to the world that the 
South had no cause of complaint, 
yet in secret cabinet they admit- 
ted her wrongs were grievous and 
irritating. Honest coercionists! 
But we have a record Greeley 
should respect. In his Almanac 
of 18G2, (if I remember its date — 
it is not now by me,) and in Hel- 
per's "Crisis," edition of 1860, 
(" compendium") we have two 
tables or plates showing the rela- 
tive increase and decrease in the 
wealth and prosperity of all the 
States. Now, though these men 
deny that tariffs impoverished the 
South and made the North, how 
happens it that the tables of Gree- 
ley and Helper exactly agree in 
showing that the Northern States, 
especially East, bend or curve up- 
ward — the opening of the angles 
of the lines determining the de- 
gree of prosperity as it occurred — 
and rush up with prosperity from 
the very years the Tariffs were 
put on! Eight at the years 1824 
and 1828 they start suddenly up, 


The American Conflict, 


and make a larger angle at 1828, 
the enormous tariff, than at 1824. 
But at those very angles the cot- 
ton and tobacco States bend (rela- 
tively) right down, sho'Wing why 
it was they drooped and lagged 
behind. Yet their decline is at- 
tributed by these cunning Shy- 
locks to slavery, and their pros- 
perity to their sagacity and fru- 
gality. True it was a sagacity 
that in the formation of the gov- 
ernment, they would not enter the 
Union, unless provided with a 
j^orthern majority in both branch- 
es of Congress, avowing its de- 
sign at the time to hold the com- 
mercial interests in their hands, 
as they fully and repeatedly de- 
clared in the federal debates. Xet 
Greely says, " there is no evi- 
dence that their condition (South's 
after 1828) was less favorable, her 
people less comfortable than they 
had been." It is at the most fear- 
ful cost of Mr. Greeley's head that 
any one can suppose his heart 
honest in such declarations. But 
these are not all the blemishes of 
this one single page of his " fair" 
history. "It," (tariff of 1828,) 
says he, "was opposed by a ma- 
jority of those (States) of Kew 
England," and he singles out that 
immaculate State of the Puritans, 
saying it was " obnoxious to Mas- 
sachusetts and the States which, 
on either side, adjoined her."* 
Terily a man of utmost coolness 
has need to pray if he would have 
the grace of quiet, calm forbear- 
ance in reading this tissue of 
slander and falsehoods. Kot only 
did the States around her, but 
Massachusetts voted for that 
Tariff with a relish she never had 

* p. 9L 

felt before. And Greeley is the 
less to be excused for this untruth, 
because that fact was made the 
more notorious when Col. Hayne, 
of South Carolina, tantalized Web- 
ster, the Senator of Massachusetts 
1830, for his desertion of his form- 
er course, as in 1821 he had not 
only voted against the high Tarifi', 
but made one of the most power- 
ful speeches against it, for which 
Hayne so highly complimented 
him, as bearing off, on his Atlan- 
tian shoulders, the very pillars of 
the Constitution. Webster ex- 
plained that in 1824 his State had 
most of her capital in the carry- 
ing trade — I quote from memory, 
but any who will read his famous 
reply to Hayne will see it — and it 
was against her interest to have 
a high Tariff. But that the gov- 
ernment having given such in- 
ducing bounties since then to 
manufactures, his State had gone 
largely at it, hence his change of 
principle. He made this explan- 
ation in that most eloquent and 
famous effort of his life. Does 
Mr. Greeley yet "suspect the 
logic that is founded on a false- 
hood?" Indeed this venomous 
man cannot relate the smallest 
circumstance, without falling in- 
to thC' temptation of slandering 
the South. He tells us "Mr. 
Van Buren supplanted him (Cal- 
houn) as Vice President in 1832, 
sha^ring in Jackson's second and 
most decided triumph." Here he 
says Van Buren supplanted Cal- 
houn. It is false, and he knew 
it. Next he writes it so as to 
leave but one impression — no oth- 
er can he draw, viz: that owing 
to Calhoun's bad conduct as a 
Xullifier, he could not be elected. 


The American Conflict. 


It is on the very next page after 
the above that Greeley says " Mr. 
Calhoun resigned the Vice Presi- 
dency when he had three months 
still to serve, and was chosen to 
the Senate to fill the seat vacated 
by Mr. Hayne."* He had been 
twice elected Vice President, and 
all knew he would be elected 
President,, as he was the most 
popular statesman in America, 
but he deliberately resolved tfo 
sacrifice all such honors in de- 
fense of his own State. 

Mr. Greeley says the Dred 
Scot Decision was " for the pur- 
pose of ousting Congress and the 
people from all right or power to 
exclude slavery from the Federal 
territories, organized or unor- 
ganized. Congress had repeated- 
ly, and from the very origin of 
the Government, legislated on the 
subject, and to this end." But 
he does not give a single instance, 
though combating the decision of 
the Supreme Court of the United 
States in its most famous decision. 
Happy serenity! On the con- 
trary, it is utterly untrue. The 
North West territory was de- 
clared free, as he shows, by Vir- 
ginia, and the South, ere ceded, 
and that was the essence of the 
stipulation. Hence, it was not 
the Congress accepting the dona- 
tion, but the States ceding, that 
incorporated the act of exclusion, 
just as France had stipulated by 
Article 3, of the Treaty of Ces- 
sion of the Louisiana territory, 
that their property, which, by 
their laws, included slaves, should 
be protected. But he not only 
says Congress had repeatedly 
legislated on this subject, but says 

* p. 93-4. 

it was " to this end " — to exclude 
it from all the territory that 
should seek admission into the 
Union. And this was from the 
beginning, he tells us. Yet, Ken- 
tucky and Tennessee were ad- 
mitted under "Washington's term, 
and no such legislation was ever 
heard of. Mississippi, Alabama, 
and Louisiana followed, and yet 
there was no such legislation. 
Nor was there any such, in any 
form, shape or way, such as he 
speaks about, till Missouri sought 
admission, lS19-'20. Surely Mr. 
Greeley was doing, as ecclesiastics 
say, a work of supererogation, 
when he went into the blustery 
pages of Pollard, for filth, with 
which to bespatter the South. 
His own trunk had absorbed 
enough of that from the foul 
pools of falsehood, long before the 
" hot head," of Richmond, opened 
his hand to his want. And no 
one can accuse Pollard of such 
grievous faults as Greeley's. 

Though Mr. Greeley's logic has 
been rent to fragments, yet, it has 
not been by direct attack on his 
logic; but his pretended "/acis." 
Let us test his logic a moment. 
He says of the Convention that 
made the Constitution, 1787, when 
Article 16, Section 2, was under 
consideration, entitling "citizens 
of each State " to be citizens of 
any other, " the delegates from 
South Carolina moved to amend 
by inserting the word '■'■white'''' 
between "free" and "inhabi- 
tants," which was emphatically 
negative,d. " So it was determined 
that States had, or might have, 
citizens who were not white, &c."* 
That they refused to enact a propo- 

* Conflict. 178. 


The American Conflict. 


sition offered thus, he considers a 
guarantee of the reverse. Kow, 
in some cases, this is true, but not 
necessarily: for many things were 
defeated by a like vote, wherein 
the opposite was not established, 
but members would explain, that 
for various reasons they were op- 
posed to voting for a measure, 
when the converse was not es- 
tablished, at all, by such a course. 
The discussions present so many 
such examples, it is useless to cite 
them. That on slavery, in its 
several shapes, is one. Webster, 
in his famous seventh of March 
(1850) speech, utterly refused to 
vote for the measures proposed to 
admit free States to the exclusion 
of slave States. Yet, he vowed, 
at the same time, his unalterable 
purpose never to vote to admit a 
slave State. A word in a certain 
form was often seen to be liable 
to other objections, or to cause 
embarrassments on other articles, 
and rejected in view of such ef- 
fect, and not on its merits in such 

But there is a nice test of Mr. 
Greeley's honesty in logic. Mr. 
Greeley knows that it was pro- 
posed, three different times, to in- 
corporate an article, giving the 
Federal Government the right 
and power to coerce a State, in 
case of rebellion, or insurrection, 
within her borders. This touched 
directly on the sovereignty of the 
States. He knows it was nega- 
tived twice — the third time it was 
withdrawn without coming to a 
vote. There is no equivocation 
here. It was a direct issue. The 
possibility of rebellion and insur- 
rection was freely discussed, and 
regarded as probable — as most 

likely to occur. Yet, they refused 
to grant the Federal Government 
the power or right to judge of it, 
or intermeddle. "Will Mr. Greeley 
stand by that logic, founded on 
facts f Section 4, of Article 4, of 
the Constitution, guaranteeing to 
each State a Republican form of 
government, and protecting each 
against invasion, proceeds— "and, 
on application of the Legislature, 
or of the Executive, when the 
Legislature cannot be convened, 
against domestic violence." As 
first proposed, it read, " to sub- 
due a rebellion in any State, on 
the application of its Legisla- 
ture."* " Pinckney moved to 
strike out, " on the application of 
its Legislature." "G. Morris 
seconds. L. Martin opposed it, 
(striking out) as giving a danger- 
ous and unnecessary power (to 
the Federal Government.) The 
consent of the State ought to pre- 
cede the introduction of any ex- 
traneous force. Mercer supported 
the opposition of Mr. Martin. 
Mr. Ellsworth proposed to add, 
after Legislature, ' or Executive.' 
G. Morris, of Pennsylvania, 'T/te 
Executive {Governor of State) may 
possibly he at the head of the re- 
hellion.''^ The General Government 
should enforce obedience in all 
cases where it may be necessary. 
Mr. Ellsworth, of Connecticut, 
"In many cases the General Gov- 
ernment ought not to he able to in- 
terpose, unless called upon. He 
was unwilling to vary his motion 
to read, ' or without it, when the 
Legislature cannot meet.' Mr. 
Gerry, of Massachusetts, was 
against letting loose the 
MYRMIDONS of the United States 
* Madison Papers, 3. 1349. 


The American Conflict. 


on a State ivitJiout its owx con- 
sent." In this we have given 
the discussion verbatim. It con- 
tinued, Randolph maintaining 
Martin and Ellsworth's side; 
G. Morris declaring that it was 
treating the General Government 
as if they wished "to tie his 
hands behind him."* " On the 
motion to add, ' or without it, 
(application) when the Legislature 
cannot meet,' it was agreed to, — 
New Hampshire, Connecticut, 
Virginia, South Carolina, Geor- 
gia, aye — 5, Massachusetts, 
Delaware, Maryland, no — 3, 
Pennsylvania and North Caro- 
lina divided." "On the clause 
as amended — New Hampshire, 
Connecticut, Virginia, Georgia, 
aye — 6, Delaware, Maryland, 
North Carolina, South Carolina, 
no — 4; Massachusetts and Penn- 
sylvania absent. So it was lost.''^ 
This occurred August 17th. — 
August 30th they resumed that 
clause again. Another effort is 
now made to strike out the clause 
the semi-coercionists wanted as a 
last hope, having failed fairly 
three times on its own merits, be- 
fore this insidious effort we are 
now noticing. 

" Mr. Dickinson moved to strike 
out, ' on application of its Legis- 
lature, against.' He thought it 
of essential importance to the 
tranquility of the United States, 
that they should in all cases sup- 
press domestic violence (substi- 
tuted that word for ' rebellion ' in 
a State,) v:hich may proceed from 
the State Legislature itself, &c. 
Mr. Dayton mentioned the con- 
duct of Rhode Island, as showing 
the necessity of giving latitude to 

* Madison Papers, 3. 1350-1. 

the power of the United States on 
this subject. On the question — 
New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Del- 
aware, aye — 3 ; New Hamp- 
shire, Massachusetts, Connecticut, 
Maryland, Virginia, North Caro- 
lina, South Carolina, Georgia, 
no,— 8."* 

"Mr. Dickinson moved to insert 
the words 'or Executive' after 
the words ' application of its Leg- 
islature.' The occasion itself 
might hinder the Legislature from 
meeting. On this question, New 
Hampshire, Connecticut, New 
Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, 
North Carolina, South Carolina, 
Georgia, aye — 8; Massachusetts, 
Virginia, no — 2; Maryland divi- 
ded." Finally as completed — it 
passed — nine for — two against — 
Maryland and Delaware being 
against, t Here then was the 
whole discussion, the various 
votes, and the parties offered their 
reasons. The coercionists said 
they must have power to put 
down rebellion in the States. It 
might be alarming and danger- 
ous to the whole government. — 
The Federal Government must, 
in their view, be judge of such 
danger, and be empowered to 
"crush the rebellion." Not so, 
thundered back quite three-fourths 
of the States present, it is a dan- 
gerous power, we will not have it. 
Hence they overwhelmingly vo- 
ted, and framed the Constitution 
of the United States so that the 
Federal Government had no right 
nor legal power in any way to 
march "its myrmidons," as Ger- 
ry called them, into any State to 
put down rebellion or domestic 

* Madison Papers, 3, 1466-7. 
t Mail ison Papers, 3, 1407-S 


The American Conflict. 


yiolence, unless applied to by the 
Executive or State Legislature. — 
And had New York and Khode 
Island been represented there, 
they would, as all knew, have vo- 
ted with the majority, since two 
of the three delegates from New 
York left the Convention because 
disgusted even with what power 
tuas granted, and for fear of such 
powers Khode Island would not 

Hence who was for the Consti- 
tution, Calhoun, who clung to 
these principles, or those who 
have always held that instrument 
as "a covenant with death?" — 
And if Mr. Greeley were honest, 
as a writer, why does he not give 
the Southern people the credit 
they have such an indubitable 
right to, yea, and cling to in the 
midst of the ruins that surround 
them, as the only proud legacy 
they have left — that of having 
clung to the right— to those rights 
their fathers had sought to be- 
queath to them, and died think- 
ing they had done so. We have 
no patience to notice more of Mr. 
Greeley's sophistries and un- 
truths, save a passing one on his 
treatment of secession. He has 
not a clear idea on the subject one 
way or the other. He is mud- 
dled, befogged, and gropes in ut- 
ter darkness. He tries to think 
with Jackson. He tries to think 
with Webster. He tries to think 
with Jefferson. He does not stand 
with either. We will not follow 
him, but strike at the heart of his 
position. He gives Clay's illus- 
tration of the Union as a mar- 
riage, "which is eithei' indissoluble 
at the pleasure of one or both par- 
ties, or else no marriage at all." 

This is a silly conceit. People 
marry under law — acknowledge 
its supremacy, and before wit-^ 
nesses, and in case of abuse have 
direct recourse to the law for re- 
dress of grievances. But sover- 
eign States have no such umpires. 
They do not, in entering a com- 
pact, contract under defined and 
established laws— have no laws — 
no superiors. Hence the analogy 
is an ignorant conceit, — the 
quintessence of clap-trap. But 
still, since it is adduced, we could 
ask: Is it a desirable union of 
man and wife where they quarrel, 
fight, hate, and ever more prate of 
abuse? And has not either party 
a right to secede, if his or her case 
be felt to be intolerable, and there 
he no redress? 

Mr. Greeley says J. Q. Adams 
had spoken in favor of the right 
of a people to revolutionize. That 
a people may modify — but leaves 
out those words " abolish,'''' " sep- 
arate,'''' '■'• dissolve the political ties,'''' 
&c. Greeley sajs: "The people 
may, from time to time, modify 

their forms of government 

This right has been set forth, 
with remarkable clearness and 
force, in the preamble to the 
Declaration of Independence, and 
by many of our patriot sages. — 
John Quincy Adams had distinct- 
ly affirmed it in a speech in Con- 
gress."- He says, Mr. Lincoln 
had contended for it in Congress. 
That he himself believes in it. — 
Indeed! And that is the boasted 
new principle our fathers discov- 
ered, and with whose praise we 
have filled the world, and mobs, 
senates and churches vociferated 
till they almost split their throats 

^ * Conflict, 1, 357. ~~ 


The Aiiierican Conflict. 


— all for the right of revolution I 
"Wise Americans! to become fren- 
zied with ecstasy, and froth and 
foam with fiery enthusiasm at the 
discovery of a principle, that no 
fool or madman had ever enter- 
tained in the history of the world. 
Adams, Greeley, Lincoln — all our 
public men, "with remarkable 
clearness and force," show a prin- 
ciple, a right, that all know has 
been exercised for six thousand 
years. Had not Europe been the 
theatre of such revolutions for 
centuries? Do not they reach as 
far back into her annals as histo- 
ry runs? So of Asia. If Greeley 
and Webster be right — for he as- 
sumes that ground — then the 
Americans of '76 have made them- 
selves the most barefaced and 
egregious asses the world ever 

By right of revolution, "Webster 
and Mr. Greeley do not mean 
right at all, but might of revolu- 
tion. Jackson talked the same 
kind of puerile twaddle in his 
South Carolina Proclamations, 

Kow Mr. Lincoln took the 
broad ground of secession as his 
platform in the two speeches he 
made in Congress 1848. They are 
too long for quotation, and are 
well known. Aside from the ad- 
dresses of J. Q. Adams, 1839, in 
which the doctrine of secession is 
advocated in clear and unequivo- 
cal terms, December 12, 1837, af- 
ter having been President of the 
United States— 1825— 1829-he, 
with the consent of his colleagues 
from Massachusetts, presented to 
Congress a Memorial against the 
annexation of Texas to the "Union, 
and (for he was a member of Con- 

gress now) said: " In the face of 
this House, and in the face of 
Heaven, I avow it as my solemn 
belief that the annexation of an 
independent foreign power (Tex- 
as) to this government, would, 
ipso facto, (of itself) he a dissolu- 
tion of the Union.''' He "had 
presented one hundred and ninety 
petitions on this subject. . . . 
His colleagues had presented col- 
lectively a large number." Adams 
had made slavery the sole ground 
of his course — i. e. its effect in se- 
curing Southern votes in the Sen- 
ate, thereby holding high tariffs 
in check. January 24, 1842, 
" Adams presented a petition to 
the House (of Congress) praying 
for the adoption of measures 
peaceably to dissolve the Union, 
assigning as one of the reasons, 
the inequality of benefits conferred 
upon different sections." At that 
time, the high Tariff" had expired — 
that very year, February 24, 1842, 
J. E. Giddings offered one of a 
like nature, and it received twen- 
ty-four Northern votes. The 
largest abolition volume ever pub- 
lished, not excepting Mr. Gree- 
ley's, 1857, copied the above reso- 
lutions and their speeches, to 
show the zeal of abolitionists. — 
Yet Mr. Greeley would palm all 
that off, with volumes of a like 
character, as a clear reason for 
modifying our forms of govern- 
ment! He then quoted from his 
somewhat famous articles of 1860 
and 1861, in which he declares 
"The right to secede may be a 
revolutionary one, but it exists 
nevertheless; and we do not see 
how one party has a right to do 
what another party has a right to 
prevent." That is good, but 


The American Confiict. 


poorly expressed as to the first 
words. "And when ever a con- 
siderable section of our Union shall 
deliberately resolve to go out, we 
should resist all coercive meas- 
ures designed to keep it in. We 
hope never to live in a Eepublic, 
where one section is pinned to the 
residue by bayonets."* This is 
tolerably well said. But, though 
reiterated several times, he tried 
to explain it away afterwards by 
assuming, as in this volume, that 
the secession acts were not " delib- 
erately'''' passed. That the peo- 
ple of those States did not act 
with wianimity. That he stood 
for the Declaration of Independ- 
ence. Well, now, let us see. He 
stands by the Declaration prin- 
ciples that a people have the right 
to secede. But who is to de- 
termine when they are acting with 
'■'■unanimity'''' or "deliberately?" 
Either themselves, or those from 
whom they withdraw, of course. 
But if left with their oppressors 
to determine these points, you give 
up all: for they would always say 
it was hasty, unjustifiable, and 
rash. Can Mr. Greeley be so 
very obtuse as to fail to see this, 
although he may impose such 
stupid nonsense on his Northern 
people? If an oppressed people 
have the right to secede or revo- 
lutionize either, with that right 
goes necessarily the right of de- 
termining for themselves when 
they are aggrieved, and to suit 
their deliberations to themselves. 
A ten year old boy can see that. 
If Mr. Greeley's dodge be allowed, 
how stood it with our fathers? — 
Pennsylvania and several States 
at first refused to vote for the Se- 

* Conflict, 1, 359. 

cession of the thirteen Colonies in 
1776. One or two States did not 
vote for it. It was barely possi- 
ble to get a majority in several of 
the leading States. So the great 
Secession document had but little 
unanimity, and by Mr. Greeley's 
rule was altogether wrong. But 
Mr. Greeley's dodge is unfortun- 
ate at every turn. All the fram- 
ers of the Constitution habitually 
spoke of the dissolving of the old 
Union — the "perpetual Union" 
whose "/oret-ers" and " indisso- 
lubles" our author italicises so 
much in his work. The States 
one by one seceded from it, and 
entered the new Union. Was it 
with " deliberation and unanimi- 
ty?" Far from it. Connecticut, 
New York, Kew Hampshire, 
Khode Island, Delaware and 
Maryland, most persistently op- 
posed it. A majority of the States 
opposed it. But the three large 
States, as they were then, Vir- 
ginia, Pennsylvania, Massachu- 
setts, were bent on it, and the 
others had to yield. They told 
them right out they would act for 
themselves, as the others also said 
they would remain in the old 
Union, and seek foreign alliances. 
Connecticut led in that threat. — 
But not only were the States not 
unanimously inclined, nor delib- 
erate, but the people were equally 
so. Greeley says in the very page 
preceding that above quoted, 
(page 356,) the people " vehe- 
mently and formidably opposed 
it, and its adoption, in several 
States was, for a time, successfully 
resisted." "There was manifest 
danger of its failure in New York, 
as well as in two other great lead- 
ing States, Virginia and Massa- 


The American Conflict. 


cliusetts. To the Kew York Con- 
vention, sitting at Poughkeepsie, 
the people had returned a majori- 
ty of delegates hostile to ratifica- 
tion." That is true of several 
other States, especially Virginia, 
in which a very large majority — 
overwhelming — was against it. 
Greeley proceeds: "The friends 
of the Constitution, in Xew York, 
were constrained to resort to de- 
lay, to policy, and to propositions 
of amendment, to overcome or 
iccar out the resistance they had 
to encounter."'* Indeed! And 
what becomes of that farce of an 
argument, always the text book of 
the Websters, and Storys, and 
Greeley s — "We, the people," 
and the " one nation " consolida- 
tion theory? The truth is the 
peojjZe never did ratify the Consti- 
tution at all. Kew Hampshire 
followed New York, and Vir- 
ginia. Her people voted against 
it; and it was by after-trickery 
they were led in. Ehode Island 
and Korth Carolina stood aloof 
altogether. In a word, when the 
Constitution was framed over the 
ruins of the old "jjerj^etuaZ," 
"efer/K'i," "/orerer," '■'■ mdisso- 
JuUe,^^ and " tuiaZ<em&Ie" Consti- 
tution of 1777, an overwhelming 
majority of the people of the thir- 
teen States voted against it, and 
never did vote on the subject 
again. As they had no resort 
without revolution, they submit- 
ted. What now becomes of the 
dodge of Webster, of Jackson, of 
Story, and of Greeley? 

Jackson showed himself stupid 
enough to write a huge parch- 
ment of sophistry against the 
right of secession; then, as did 
* Conflict, 1. 35 J. 

Clay, in one sentence, under- 
mines it all. He admits in a 
stroke that " a State, or any great 
portion of the people . . may 
have a natural right ... to 
absolve themselves," and he 
would not deny it. "The ex- 
istence of this right, however, 
must depend on the causes ichich 
justify its exercise.''^ But who, 
again, is to determine when the 
seceding party has sufficient cause? 
the party seceding, or the enemy 
from whom they secede? But, 
Jackson, and Greeley, and their 
followers, seemed never to dream 
of the sternness of such inexor- 
able logic. They preferred a 
logic "founded on falsehood." 
It is a misfortune that Greeley 
has a bad memory. It is said — 
no inuendo intended by this — 
that liars ought to have good 
memories. He sneers at the re- 
peated declarations of " South- 
rons," that if they withdrew, it 
would "whelm us (the North) all 
in bankruptcy and ruin." He 
repeatedly sneers at their folly for 
so thinking. Yet, who has for- 
gotten their, and his cries about 
"the life of the Nation "—" de- 
stroying the nation " and all that 
gibberish? Nay, in the intro- 
duction to his second volume 
("Explanatory,") he set out on 
the first page to tell us, that had 
the South succeeded in gaining 
their Independence, nearly every 
State North would have gone to 
it, adopting slavery as a condi- 
tion ! Wonderful historian—he 
quotes it as proof absolute, that 
the " Southrons," as he calls 
them, were hot-headed fools, and 
blustering, self-elated numskulls, 
then turns right round, and says 


The American Conflict. 


twice as much as they ever 
dreamed of ! But we forbear. 
To expose all his slanders and 
misstatements, would be to go 
over every page in the huge 
volume. These are samples of 
the rest. It is a disgrace to hu- 
manity — a foul slander on the 
race, and his offense is so rank, it 
smells to heaven. If the Pytha- 
gorean doctrine be true, Mr. 
Greeley's soul, evidently, once 
was the animating power of a 
buzzard — the, scavenger of birds. 
He revels in the foul and base. 
But he has a dual nature. He 
is philanthropist, and he is the 
foe of man. He is patriot, and 
tyrant. In his Tribune he is 
alternately changing persons. In 
every other column, or paragraph, 
he comes with a vase full of 
flowers, and a barrel of soothing 
syrup by him. In every other 
one he "is piled up high" — we 
quote a great authority with 
him — with carrion, and has virus 
enough by him to stagnate the 
life of the ocean, and make it a 
dead sea of corruption. His 
vocabulary is that of the meanest 
of Puritans, such as the " tuned 
in their nose full swetely," as 
Chaucer said of the "nonne." 
Now he berates the North for 
harsh epithets, urges the dis- 
continuance of offensive words, 
and in the next column, by him- 
self, or the next editorial, he pours 
forth his epithets as if he had 
been at a feast of treason, and 
gathered up all the scraps. He is 
in his element when his tongue is 
overflowing with rebels, traitors, 
slave-holders, autocrats, oligarchy, 
slave-breeders, whip and lash — 
whip of secession, malignants, 

discontented malignants, unre- 
constructed traitors, massacres of 
Fort Pillow, of New Orleans and 

He need not fear, however, 
that his venomous character will 
ever be known to posterity. He 
knows the Northern mind — that 
part of the North that thinks 
with him. (Of course I always 
mean that class in using the term 
North.) The artificial Greeley 
will live in form. The real 
Greeley will perish at once. Of 
his private character we care 
nothing. The meanest and most 
infamous tyrants that ever cursed 
the earth, have been warm and 
generous in domestic and social 
life. Their impulses have been 
exalted and magnanimous. — 
Claverhouse, Robespierre, and 
St. Just were so. They say Nero 
was so. Undoubtedly Ca3sar and 
Alexander were so. Unquestion- 
ably Mr. Lincoln was a warm, 
generous-hearted man — full of 
the milk of human kindness. But 
such men are often instrumentally 
made to be the worst of all ty- 
rants, being used by Stantons, 
Butlers, Sumners, as the soft- 
hearted Charles I. was by his 

Prom Greeley's writings, all 
that makes him kind, generous, 
noble, will be recorded by bio- ^ 
graphers— all the infinitely more 
voluminous part that makes him 
a tyrant, will die. Posterity will, 
therefore, see Greeley the saint, 
while his cloven foot will be in- 
closed in silver, and sheltered by a 
saintly cassock, though the one 
will be " As great Alcides' shoes 
upon an ass," and the other as 
unsightly as " a giant's robe upon 

156 Nothing to Eat. [June, 

a dvvarfish child." The world When man treadth on his tail, ne lialf 

should say " doflf it for shame, as Greeley is, when he hath caught an 

and hang a calf- skin 'round those ire ; 

recreant limbs " Vei-ay vengeance is than all his de- 
*' There n'is yevis no serpent so cruel, \_Chcmcev''s Canterbury Tales. 



Nothing to eat, — Oh great God! — what a cry — 

To go up from the heart of a city — 
Circled with plenty, and splendor, — to die 

Without love, without home, without pity. 
Starving! — while Fashion is feasting in there, , 

Feasting, dancing, — in reach of her call. 
Freezing! — while snow-flakes, and icicles glare, 

With the glow, from that sumptuous hall. 

" Don't beg, — go and work" — repeated all day. 

Cruel words! — they were seared on her brain, 
" Feed me" — she cried — " I will work — let me stay, 

I can stitch, scrub"— all pleading was vain. 
" A beggar! to work for a lady so grand" — 

Oh! sweet Charity! — where shall we go 
To seek theeV — When wealth shuts his royal, right hand, 

And fair children die— out in the snow! 

Rich dainties, and rare — costing marvelous sums. 

Were heaped there — in her famishing sight. 
Starving! — yet might have been saved with the crumbs 

That will fall from that banquet to-night. 
" Nothing to eat!" — amid plenty and waste — 

Oh dear Christ — at thy banquet, above. 
Of those thou hast bidden — how few there shall taste. 

Here, so wanting in brotherly love. 

" Starving!" — they heard — but the great door shut fast! 

In this wide world. Oh where could she go? 
Homeless, and friendless!— unloved, an out-cast. 

With — "nothing to eat" — but the snow! 
The city was vast, — she turned to the east. 

Clutched a snow-drift — sank down; — in the light 
Of a Heavenly banquet, fair girl, thou shalt feast, 

While they starve — who are feasting to-night. 
Lexington, Ky., 1868. 


Only Son of His Mother. 



" He was the only son of a Widow." — Monch Jendioine. 


I knew Winsmeede Fallon and 
admired him for manliness of per- 
son and character. He had fine 
eyes, hair, beard and teeth. — 
Grace, color and stature combined 
to make him pleasant to look up- 
on. The first time I ever saw 
him was in a room crowded with 
youth and beauty. His mother 
leaned upon his arm. The one 
young and handsome, the other 
old and feeble ; both were beauti- 
fied by the contrast. A lady at 
my side remarked — 

" Winsmeede Fallon will never 
marry, he is absorbed in his 

"She is a quaint looking old 
lady," said I, "but very attract- 

" Very, there is such harmony 
in her dress, person, and gentle 

" And Winsmeede?" queried I. 

" He is a southern gentleman 
of the highest type. How could 
he be anything else with such a 

"Did you see that young lady 
in the reception room?" asked I. 

" That young lady! Why, my 
dear sir, there were at least twen- 

I had seen only one, and would 
have seen her among a thousand. 
Again she passed before me, a 

servant following with a trunk, 
on which I read — " K. Annesley, 
Petersburg, Virginia." 

My companion was still speak- 

" What a pity he has volun- 

"Who? Annesley?" asked I, 
looking towards the door. 

"Pshaw! I am speaking of 
Winsmeede," said she impatient- 

"Ah — yes — no — I mean; not 
for our cause," rejoined I. 

' ' I was thinking of his mother, ' ' 
continued she, "he is the only 
son of a widow." 

I learned that evening that she 
had buried her husband and four 
children in one year. Love had 
been her idol; Death drew her 
unto the Cross, and the last child 
was spared. In perfect trust and 
resignation lay the loveliness of 
her old age. Afterwards I said 
to young Fallon — " How will 
your mother bear this parting?" 

"You do not know my moth- 
er," answered he proudly, "she 
is a dove-hearted woman, but her 
soul is a . tower of strength. She 
is a patriot and a Christian." 

I did not appreciate the force of 
his words, until I met her the 
morning he went away, and saw 
a sweet, patient smile on her face. 



battle of 

— a pale anxious 
A few days after the disastrous throng might have been seen 


Only Son of His Mother. 


crowding around our village post 
office. Mrs. Fallon leaned on 
her cane apart from the crowd, 
while the list of dead, wounded, 
and missing was read. The sun 
was hot, her walk had been long, 
so her feet ached and the cane 
shook in her hands. She was 
growing old very fast. The man 
inside the office read on. 
Killed: John Lanham, 
Martin Smith, 
Jas. Thompson, 
"VVinsmeede Fallon. 
Those within heard no cry, and 
-those without were listening too 
attentively to notice her, though 
they said, "Poor old lady!" 
"Poor Mrs. Fallon!" "Who 
will break this dreadful news to 
her?" "With her head drooping a 
trifle lower than was wont, she 
tottered away voiceless. A mist 
came before her, and she groped 
her way home, feeling before her, 
as one does in the darkness. She 
was found sitting on the steps of 
her own door, with her ' hands 
clasped together around her knees, 
rocking herself to and fro. The 
shock had numbed every faculty, 
and she submitted like a docile 
infant, to our ministrations, with- 
out any apparent desire for any- 
thing, save to lie quite still, her 
eyes fixed upon the portrait of 
her son. She did not speak- for 

days, and we feared this dumb 
grief preceded second childhood, 
or death. Day after day, ex- 
hausted by exertion, oppressed by 
the stillness, we sat watching and 
waiting. We sat thus one morn- 
ing: my arm rested on the win- 
dow-sill, where I leaned, glad to 
be near a pet mocking biru, who 
dipped his beak in a basin of 
water, twittering and chirping as 
he stroked his feathers. Mrs. 
Fallon loved birds. They were 
never caged, and yet this one had 
been taught to pick crumbs from 
her hand, or nestle In her bosom. 
Winsmeede possessed the same 
power over horses and dogs, it 
must have been through gentle- 
ness. I held out my hand, the 
bird hopped upon it, and from 
thence to the vine against the 
window, turned his little, sharp, 
blinking eyes heavenward, and 
sang his first song. Mrs. Fal- 
lon's eyes left the picture, and 
rested on the bird. When his 
rich, wild melody changed to a 
low quivering strain, she spoke: 
" It is the voice of my son. Yorls 
never sang before." I passed my 
hand over my eyes, the ladies 
wept, she smiled. How wondrous 
are the ways of God! The Com- 
forter spake, through the song of 
a little bird. 


"Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee." 

About sunset, in the month of as her son had done before he 
October, a stranger dressed in died. She was pale and delicate 
mourning came to our village in- featured, lacking only health and 
quiring for Mrs. Fallon. The spirits to be handsome. After 
following Sabbath, she attended that day, they were always to- 
church, supporting the old lady gather. It was Ruth Annesley. 


Only Son of His Mother. 


She was very gentle with Mrs. 
Fallon — walked slowly beside her, 
chose pleasant paths, folded her 
shawl carefully about her, and 
cared for her in hundreds of 
thoughtful ways. If Winsmeede's 
devotion to his mother had been 
pleasant to see, this was beautiful. 
A visitor asked naturally enough, 
"Are you related to Mrs. Fal- 
lon V" 

"iSro," replied Euth. 

" An old acquaintance, I pre- 

"Ko, I never saw her until I 
came here." 

Finally the story came out, that 
she went straight to Mrs. Fal- 
lon's house, on the day of her ar- 
rival, sat down beside her, took 
her hand and asked — "Are you 
Mrs. Fallon?" 

" Yes," was her reply. 

"Did you know "Winsmeede 

"Winsmeede? My boy? I am 
his mother — he is dead!" 

Both faces quivered; the young 
woman put her hand to her white 
throat, sank down at the old 
woman's feet, and laid her cheek 
against her hand, as they groaned 
piteously together. 

" What are you to him? asked 
Mrs. Fallon, as she felt the hot 
tears drop heavily into her palm. 

Ruth lifted her white face. 

blanched by a grief that had 
never before been spoken, and 
answered — " I would have been 
his wife!" 

" Poor thing, poor thing!" re- 
peated the mother, stroking her 
hair and face tenderly. 

From that hour they loved each 
other dearly. 

iMiss Annesley gathered about 
her a few pupils, and officiated as 
organist in one of the churches. 
How she played and sang! There 
was an indescribable under cur- 
rent of sadness and sweetness in 
every strain. I have watched, - 
with half- closed eyes, the glim- 
mering sunlight through the 
chancel window set its gorgeous 
coloring on her face and hair, and 
wished she might play on forever, 
that my dream of heaven and 
angels might never end. To this 
day, I never hear ' Te Deum 
Laudamus,' but her frail form and 
deep lustrous eyes come before me. 
One evening I heard, her sing, 
"Kearer, My God to Thee "—I 
have felt nearer and nearer to Him 
from that hour. She came down 
smiling, and passed out of the 
shadowy church, into the red 
light of evening. As she vanish- 
ed among the pines, she seemed a 
part of the golden glory of the 
day passing westward into the 


"Destroy, destroy! Leave not a chimney for a crow to rest upon." — 

[General Sher7nan, U. S. A. 

Mrs. Fallon's house was on fire! alas, it had come too late — we 
A white fear flew from face to found only a heap of smouldering 
face, for the two women living ruins, slowly whitening in the 
there aione. The news spread morning sunshine. A few arti- 
quickly through the place, but cles of clothing, a single trunk. 


Only Son of His Mother. 


and Winsmeede's picture, were in 
sight. Close by, Mrs. Fallon was 
reclining in a kind of stupor, with 
her head resting on Miss Annes- 
ley's lap. Both were in their 
night dresses. Euth's cheek was 
parched red, her hands and arms 
•blistered, her long, fine hair burn- 
ed half away, but she actually 
smiled in my face — 

" See, Doctor, we are safe, 
thank God! It is a sad thing, 
but we are both alive," said she 
softly, emphasizing 6of/i, and point- 
ing to Mrs. Fallon. 

Had she wept hysterically, I 
might have been more calm, but 
I turned away, choking with 
wrath and bitterness. 

" I fear her eyes are injured," 
continued she, "You know her 
sight was failing, and the smoke 
and flames were terrible. See, 
her lashes are burned, and her 
cheeks seared dreadfully." Noth- 
ing was said of her own cheek and 
beautiful hair, until I spoke. 

" Ah, that is a trifle," she an- 
swered, " I can wear it short 
awhile — God has been very good 
to me!" 

True, God had been good, but 
I thought of those who had not — 
she said not a word against them, 
and my bitterness died away un- 
spoken. Mrs. Fallon started 
while we were speaking of carry- 
ing her to a cabin near by. 

" Euth, dear, is it not nearly 

" Yes, mother, it is day," an- 
swered Euth. 

Mrs. Fallon held her hands be- 
fore her eyes, closer and closer, 
then dropped them heavily, say- 
ing, "Euth, I am blind." Her 

tone was subdued and she clasped 
her hands patiently. We looked 
at each other, and for the first 
time I saw Miss Annesley's eyes 
moist with tears. They refused 
all invitations to neighboring 
homes. Mrs. Fallon said, "lam 
too old to change, let me stay 

"Yes," added Euth, "let us 
stay here." 

As she spoke her grey, earnest 
eyes were fixed upon the distance, 
as if she were waiting. 

"Ah," thought I, "she will 
wait here for some one whom she 

However they accepted little 
kindnesses gratefully, and before 
another night came, were domi- 
ciled rudely enough, in a humble 
cabin formerly occupied by their 
servants. We moved Mrs. Fal- 
lon there that morning, and spent 
the day in making it at least a 
safe shelter. Miss Annesley was 
almost merry in their humble 
home; she was here, there and 
everywhere, helping us all with 
her little, busy hands and brave 
spirit. She laughed at her scorch- 
ed, uneven hair, when a lady held 
it before her, and with more spirit 
than usual, bade her cut ofi" the 
rest for bow-strings for her coun- 
trymen. But the flush died away 
before night came, and I saw the 
efiects of exposure and excitement 
already,in the slender frame which 
held so strong a soul. Mrs. Fal- 
lon was now almost helpless, and 
Miss Annesley loved her the more 
for her dependence upon her. — 
Through the day she toiled for 
their support, and at night kept 
watch, with her hand in hers, 
that the slightest movement might 


Only Son of His Mother. 


arouse her. ISTow that Mrs. Fal- 
lon was blind, there was no re- 
straint upon these constant sacri- 
hces. She stinted herself in food 
until her eyes were sunken and 
her thin nostrils almost transpar- 
ent — in dress it was the same. I 
saw it all one day when she asked 
me to prescribe for her cough. — 
She was neat and looked well- 
dressed in anything, for the strip 
of linen round her throat was 
spotless, and she wore her faded 
mourning with infinite grace, but 
I was pained to see her shivering 
without a shawl, and still more 
grieved to see her thin, white face. 
I told her she was killing herself, 
and remonstrated with her; she 
promised me to eat more and 
work less for Mrs. Fallon's sake. 
That night I carried my prescrip- 
tion for her cough, and with it a 
ehawl — but I dared not carry it 
in the house — twice I took the 
bundle in my hand, and as often 
laid it back in my buggy. I car- 
ried it back to the village with me 
next day, and back again by Mrs. 
Fallon's the following night; the 
wind was blowing, she could not 
hear me, so I stole to the door 
like a robber, and laid the shawl 
on a shelf under the latticed awn- 
ing. When we next met I could 
not look her in the face — I had 
avoided meeting her, until I heard 
a little girl say, "I am so glad 
Miss Ruth has a warm shawl, she 
doesn't shiver with cold now, when 
she hears my lesson" — then I 
went by to see how they were 
getting along. 

" Doctor, don't be afraid that I 
am angry," said she kindly, "I 
am a proud woman, and kept this 
shawl a week to return it, but I 

VOL. V. NO. II. 

am not a cold one, for I could not 
pain so good a heart; I tried, but 
could not wound you in return 
for kindness— I will wear it for 
your sake." 

"For my sake?" The words 
hurt me more than wounds. 

Through winter, spring and 
summer, she worked on, paler 
and thinner every day, until the 
warm days brought a fluctuating 
color to her cheeks, painful to see. 
She faded away, but the bird sang 
among the flowers and vines her 
hands had trained about the door, 
and within, her presence beauti- 
fied the humble walls. A feverish 
restlessness possessed her, she 
seemed forever on the watch, 
earnestly gazing far away. On 
pleasant evenings she walked to 
and fro, in sight of the cabin 
where the blind woman sat under 
the lattice, talking in low, en- 
dearing diminutives, to the bird 
which stirred the hop vine with 
his slender feet, and broke the 
stillness, with a weird mockery of 
every passing sound. She was 
walking thus one evening, when I 
lifted the latch of the gate. She 
turned swiftly in the path, and 
almost ran towards me, with her 
hand pressed to her throat — it 
seemed as natural there as the 
linen band, and scarcely less 
white. Seeing me, she tottered 
where she stood, and the blood 
came and went in her face, like a 
wild wave slowly rocking itself 
down and down, to rest into the 
smooth bosom of the sea. Her 
hand felt like ice in my burning 
palm when we met — she did not 
explain her manner, but I knew 
it was the efiect of her failing 

health, and it ah, me, she 



Only l^ion of His Mother. 


was one of those victims of love and grief was stealing her life 
who had grief for her portion, away! 



Returning home that night, I 
ran against a man and knocked 
his pipe out of his mouth. I 
apologized. He said nothing, 
filled his pipe and relit it from my 
cigar. The light shone on his 
face — it was haggard, scarred and 
thin. His eyes met mine vacant- 
ly. Crime or insanity, I thought, 
and hurried on, occupied with 
my own thoughts. Once only, I 
paused and looked hack at him. 
The speed of his heavy, wavering 
steps increased, he staggered up 
the hill, paused for an instant. 

and disappeared in the direction 
I had come. Such miserable 
pedestrians were common after 
the surrender, so I fell asleep to 
dream, not of him, but Ruth 
Annesley. I saw her choked by 
a highwayman with a thin white 
hand. Both of my arms were 
tied down— I could not help her, 
nor cry for help — my voice died 
in my throat, and the blood fell 
drop by drop, from her lips to her 
bosom, until her eyes closed, her 
head drooped, and she fell dead 
before my eyes! 



Ruth first broke the silence 
which followed my departure — 
"Mother, are you thinking of 
7wmf" The soft withered hand 
pressed hers gently. A chill 
wind fluttered the curtain and 
put out the light. As Ruth closed 
the window she saw a man's 
figure shadowed by the moon- 
light on the ground. Instead of 
dropping the curtain, she fastened 
it back securely, kindled a light 
on the hearth, and returned to 
her place. There was no sign of 
nervousness or fear, save the old 
movement of placing her hand to 
her throat, whenever she looked 
that way. 

"Ruth," said Mrs. Fallon, "I 
forget sometimes, and look for 
him. When I hear a sudden 
sound, I listen for his voice. 
"When the sun shines brightly, I 

can see shadows pass before me — 
my heart then leaps up in my 
throat, and I lean forward to 
clasp him in my arms." 

" I am glad of that, mother, 
glad that you forget and look for 
him — I sometimes feel that we 
will meet again." 

"Aye, in Heaven, dear," said 
Mrs. Fallon, • moving her head 
slowly, and clasping her hands in 
the touching way that had come 
with her blindness. 

"Mother," began Ruth, but 
she grew excited, and laughed 
strangely as she continued, " I 
am often so glad for a moment, 
that I want to laugh and dance 
and sing, Ifeel that lie lives 1 

" What did you dream last 
night when you sobbed beside me, 

"I dreamed that I went to a 
battle field, where women had 


Only Son of His Mother. 


lifted Our Dead and laid them 
gently down to rest. These 
graves were strewn with flowers. 
Some kind hand had hung a 
wreath upon a wooden cross by 
which I lay. Under the wreath 
I found our loved one's name. 
Ah, mother, the brown, cold sod 
was sweet to my lips, and the 
flowers hung heavy with my 
tears-it makes you weep, mother." 

"But speak on, child," replied 
Mrs. Fallon, "you are so near to 
me through my son, you have 
loved him so well!" 

Kuth kissed her hand and con- 
tinued — 

"While I lay there sobbing, 
with my face pressed to his grave, 
something lifted my head, and I 
saw Ms dear face, above the mound, 
smiling upon me I I wept aloud 
for joy! The sound of my voice 
awoke me, then the chill hand 
crept down on my heart again, 
and I drew near to you shiver- 
ing — it was so cold! I did not 
know you were awake." 

"Yes, dear, when you fell 
asleep again, I put my hand on 
your face to wipe the tears away, 
but it was hot and dry — you do 
not weep like other women, 

" No, mother, I can seldom 
weep for sorrow — when he comes, 
I will weep." Her eyes were 
on the window again, as the old 
lady shook her head and spoke : 
"Euth, since he died " — 

The other shuddered until her 
teeth chattered as if with cold — 

"Are you cold, child?" 

"Ko, mother,— say, since he 
went away, please!" 

"Since he went away," con- 
tinued the elder, "I .feel the 

second childhood coming on — you 
know there is a second child- 


" I remember so much of long 
ago, not seeing what is passing 
now, I look back and live in the 
old time. What are you looking 
for, Euth?" 

"For him, mother — go on, I 
am listening." 

" Are you tired, my daughter?" 

" Oh, no ! Talk, mother— I 
should never grow tired of hear- 
ing you speak of him, or his 
father, or his little brother and 
sisters who died — they are all 
mine, you know, I love them 

"I was saying, of late days the 
past is so clear, and the present 
dim. I cannot see my wrinkled 
face and hands, nor my gray hair, 
so I forget and think they are 
soft and fine like yours. Just so, 
I forget to think of Winsmeede 
as the man he was when he — 
went away — he seems to be a 
little boy again, who used to 
climb on the back of my chair, 
with his yellow curls brushing my 
face. I feel his little dimpled 
hands over my eyes, and hear a 
child's voice bantering me to 
guess his name. My husband 
seems to me now, as my boy look- 
ed when he went away. Do you 
think be was handsome, Euth?" 

"Yes, mother — when he march- 
ed into Petersburg, barefooted, 
cold and hungry, he looked like a 
prince to me." 

" And you loved him then?" 

"Oh, no," said Euth smiling 
faintly, " not until I knew him to 
be all he seemed to be." 

" I want to be doing little 


Only Son of His Motlicr. 


things for him," continued Mrs. 
Fallon, following her train of 
thought to his boyhood. "Last 
Christmas I wanted to hang a lit- 
tle sock by the chimney. I want 
his plate by mine at the table 
every day — it is foolish, but that 
is the way old age comes on — we 
turn back to children's ways. 

"His place is always ready," 
said Euth, "I place a chair for 
him every day. He might come, 
oh, he might come!" She spoke 
vehemently, and drew a chair 
close beside her. 

" Ah, child!" sighed the other, 
as she took the quivering hands 
between her own. " Poor thing, 
poor thing! It is harder for you 
than for me, for I will soon be 
gone!" Euth's quick ear heard 
a step, she laid the kind hands 
tenderly back in her lap, and 
walked to the window, steadying 
herself by the table, bed, and 
chairs as she passed them. Hold- 
ing both hands against the small 
pane of glass and looking fixedly 
through them, she saw what 
seemed to make sunlight dance 
out of the depths of the night! — 
Winsmeede stood before her! — 
There was a sound of shivered 
ringing glass, as if a hurricane 
had hurled the sash from the 
casement, and she fell forward 
into his arms. They were alone. 
Only the eye of God was upon 
them, and His Holy angels were 
sentineled around that golden 
sand of time in silence. 

"Where are you, Ruth?" they 
heard Mrs. Fallon say as she felt 
her way about the room. 

" Break it gently to her, dar- 
ling!" whispered Winsmeede, as 

he lifted her noiselessly within the 

"Here, mother!" answered 
Euth, going towards her, but she 
turned back with stifled weeping 
to touch his face, hands, lips and 
eyes, to assure herself it was no 

" I was afraid you had fainted, 
child- did you fall?" 

" Yes, but I am not hurt" — 
Euth's arm was then around her 
leading her back to her chair; but 
she, who had been so strong, 
trembled with the weight on her 

" You are not strong, dear, are 
you ill?" 

" No, mother, I am so well, and 

She checked herself and looked 
with her fond smiling face and 
shining eyes at Winsmeede, who 
stood with his hand on the door, 
his foot set forward as if he would 
spring to her side. 

"Euth, you are weeping now," 
said Mrs. Fallon, " what has 
made you so glad?" 

"I feel glad," answered she, 
tremulously, still looking towards 
the door, " you know how I have 
talked to-night, how I always 
look and pray and hope for him 
to come." 

"Yes, child." 

" The hoping and praying has 
made me so glad, I am joyous to- 
night! And you want me to 
weep like other women, see here." 
Euth pressed her wet face against 
Mrs. Fallon's cheek and hands. 
" Tears are so sweet, they heal 
my heart, I thank God I can weep 
at last!" 

" It is late, and you are fever- 
ish, Euth— we have talked too 


Only Son of His Mother. 


loDg to night. If he were to come 
— if such a thing could be — " 

" It can be," interrupted Kuth. 

" Hush, it would kill you, poor 
child I" 

"Kill me! Oh, mother! And 
you? How would you bear it?" 

"I? ah, me!" Kuth sprang 
from her chair and sank back 
with her hand at her throat. 

"Winsmeede started forward, 
but she motioned him back again. 

"What is the matter, Euth?" 

" I am as glad, as glad as — if — 
he — had — come!" answered she, 
gasping for breath. " I want you 
to pray, mother — let us pray for 
strength to bear all things the 
Father sends. She sank down at 
Mrs. Fallon's feet as she had done 
the first time they had ever met. 

"She has left it to God," thought 
Winsmeede, as he listened with 
eyes fixed yearningly on the two 
who to him were dearest of all the 
world. Mrs. Fallon prayed — 
Ruth lifted her head saying 

"Amen!" echoed near them. 

"It seemed to me, Euth, two 
voices spake!" 

"So it seemed to me, mother." 

Winsmeede came and laid his 
head in his mother's lap. She 
ran her fingers swiftly over his 

face, tracing each feature — then 
she whispered, " Is this dying?' 
Euth, am I dying? Or have I 
died and met my son in heaven?" 

"Oh no, dear mother, he has 
come /" 

"Speak to me, my son!" Her 
voice was very weak, and she 
shook like one palsied in his 
arms — his was scarcely less low 
and tender as he repeated Euth's 
words — " Dear mother, he has 
come!" She lifted her sightless 
eyes to Heaven and murmured, 
while he kissed her face, "The 
lines have fallen unto me in 
pleasant places, yea, I have a 
goodly heritage!" Euth clung to 
both with fond caressings. Her 
voice rang its changes through 
sobs and laughter, her little 
hands were busy, they passed over 
and over Winsmeede's face,, 
touched the scar on his temple 
tenderly — her lips did the same, 
and she sniiled brightly as she 
wound his empty sleeve about her 
throat and nestled against the 
rough and faded grey jacket, as if 
it were the softest Mechlin lace. 
The darkest hour had rolled away 
and she clapped her hands like a 
happy child in the rosy light of 



They were married. Three 
shining faces passed before me. 
One was old, two were young — all 
were beautiful. The central 
figure was an angel in a mist of 
floating white. His hand and 

hers touched mine— I wished 
them joy, and said — "Ah, Wins- 
meede, my friend, had you in- 
deed slept in the low thick ranks 
sown on the field of glory, you 
would still have been blest in the 
love and orief of such a woman!" 


Orange Culture. 



The orange is the greatest fruit 
of commerce. It is the only trop- 
ical fruit which can be eaten in 
the perfection of its freshness, in 
every part of the world, and at 
almost every season of the year. 
The pine-apple and banana must 
be gathered for transportation be- 
fore they are ripe, and thus lose 
much of their flavor and fragrance, 
and even then,perish quickly — for- 
eign grapes must be treated in the 
same manner, or dried into raisins ; 
figs and dates must also go through 
the drying process: the guava 
must be made into jelly — the co- 
coa-nut consolidates and becomes 
indigestible; but the orange car- 
ries its tropical perfume and ex- 
quisite flavor to St. Petersburg 
and to Stockholm. To protect it 
from the effects of heat and cold, 
it is furnished with a thick, soft 
rind — to protect it from the at- 
tacks of insects this rind is coated 
with an acrid, aromatic oil. Dur- 
ing transportation, it is necessary 
to guard the fruit from bruises 
and moisture, and it should be 
well ventilated. 

The cultivation of the orange 
requires but little labor and ex- 
pense—fine crops being often ob- 
tained from the most neglected 
orchards. The trees bear abund- 
antly and attain great age. There 
is one still living and vigorous 
in the orangery at Versailles, 
which is well ascertained to be 
over four hundred years old. It 
is called " le grand Bourbon," 
from having belonged to the cele- 
brated constable of that royal 

name, in the beginning of the 16tli 
century, and was confiscated to 
the crown in 1522, at which time 
it was one hundred years old. A 
crown is placed on the box in 
which it stands, with this inscrip- 
tion " Sown in 1421." Some trees 
at Cordova, in Spain, are said to 
be greatly older than this, how- 
ever — not less than six or seven 
hundred years of age. It is claim- 
ed that those .at Hampton Court, 
England, are three hundred years 

The orange family includes the 
sweet orange {Citrus aurantium) 
and of this, the Italian gardeners 
enumerate forty different varie- 
ties; — the Seville, or bitter orange 
( C. vulgaris) ; the lemon ( C. lim- 
onum) ; the lime ( C. limetla) ; the 
shaddock (C decumana) and the 
citron (C Iledica); all different 
species with the same general 

The last is valuable for its use 
in being formed into a sweetmeat. 
The shaddock is a large, showy 
fruit, of but little value, and so 
named from a Captain Shaddock, 
who introduced it into the "West 
Indies, from China. The lemon 
is hardier and more easily culti- 
vated than the orange, and its 
value is well known. The Seville, 
or bitter orange is supposed to 
have been brought to Florida by 
the Spaniards, and has become so 
common, as to appear indige- 
nous. Audubon observes: "What- 
ever be its native country, the 
wild orange is, to all appearances, 
indigenous to many parts of 


Orange Culture. 


Florida, not only in the neigh- 
borhood of plantations, but in the 
wildest parts of that wild country, 
where there exists groves fully a 
mile in extent. The wild orange 
is a much jnore vigorous grower 
than the sweet, and for this 
reason, is used as a stock for 
budding and grafting the sweet 
orange upon. In Spain, the 
Seville orange is much cultivated 
for its fruit also, and forms ex- 
tensive orchards, which constitute 
the wealth of many monasteries. 
The fruit is too bitter to be used 
in its raw state, but for culinary 
purposes, and for making wine, it 
is excellent. The best marma- 
lade, and the richest wine, are 
made from it, and from its 
flowers, the best orange water is 
distilled. But it is to the sweet 
orange {aurantium) that we de- 
sire to direct particular attention, 
for its culture does not receive 
one tithe of the care, time, and 
expense which is its due, as the 
great fruit of commerce. 

The quickest and easiest way 
of obtaining an orange orchard, 
is to select one of the natural 
orange groves, which are scatter- 
ed so abundantly over "the wild- 
est portions of this wild country " 
of Florida, and thin out the trees 
to about eighteen or twenty feet 
apart. Saw off the heads of the 
remaining trees in the winter, and 
they will throw out strong shoots 
in the spring. Upon these, bud 
in the following August, and in 
three years you will have a fine 
bearing orchard, if the soil, 
seasons, &c., are favorable. If 
any other fruit can be obtained 
with less labor, and in less time, 
we would be glad to know what it 

is. Where a natural orange 
grove is not available, the next 
method of growing an orchard, 
is to select wild stocks from open 
localities, where they have had 
room to form an abundance of 
fibrous roots, and transplant them 
into rows, the proper distance, 
eighteen or twenty feet, apart. 
These stocks should not be more 
than two or three inches in di- 
ameter, and should be budded 
two feet from the ground, in 
order to form low, branching 

The third, slowest, and best 
mode of forming an orchard, is 
as follows: Select the most perfect, 
and perfectly ripened wild fruit, 
and take out the seeds, which 
plant in light, rich earth, at the 
depth of half an inch. Give 
them the care and attention which 
you would young peach, or apple 
trees, and when they have at- 
tained the size of a goose- quill, or 
rather more, they are ready for 
receiving the buds, which should 
be selected from sound, plump, 
young shoots, of such trees as 
have a free growth, and are in a 
state of bearing. Seedlings may 
be expected to produce in seven 
years. The tree in Florida 
usually grows about twenty feet 
high. In its native countries its 
maximum height is fifty feet. 

The Azores produce the most 
delicious oranges in the world. — 
On one of the islands, St. Mich- 
ael's, is a tree which is said to 
have yielded, in one year, twenty 
thousand perfect oranges, exclu- 
sive of the imperfect or abortive 
fruits, which they there call cura- 
coa oranges, from their being used 
in the manufacture of curacoa. — 


Orange Culture. 


The variety known as St. Micha- 
el's is ,a small fruit, the skin 
pale yellow, the rind thin, the 
pulp juicy, lusciously sweet and 
often seedless. 

Before the great frost in 1835, 
there was a tree in St. John's, 
Florida, which produced ten 
thousand, and in 1829,Mr. A. Alva- 
rez is said to have gathered, from 
one tree, six thousand five hun- 
dred. This frost killed trees that 
vy^ere forty feet high, and with 
trunks which measured from 
twenty to twenty- seven inches in 
diameter, and were supposed to 
number more than one century in 
age. At St. Augustine, it was 
stated, there were at least thirty 
thousand standard trees, and the 
crop at this place alone was esti- 
mated at from two to two and a 
half millions of oranges annually. 
The port here formerly presented 
quite a commercial aspect, there 
being frequently in it from fif- 
teen to twenty vessels at a time 
loading with fruit. At this period, 
the owner of one hundred stand- 
ard trees, might safely rely on a 
yearly income of f2,000, some- 
times $3,000 and even $4,000.— 

The orange succeeds best in a 
warm, fertile soil, composed prin- 
cipally of sand and loam, or sand 
and clay, not too dry, or too 
much exposed to strong winds. 
In Italy this fruit is grown to per- 
fection in strong, yellow clay,high- 
ly fertilized. With regard to the 
usual quantity of fruit per tree in 
Florida, a recent writer remarks: 
" Their estimates vary from one 
to ten thousand per tree. I saw 
no tree which had upon it so 
many as the latter, though in 
several instances, I should judge 

there were upon the trees as many 
as two thousand." The same 
writer, in speaking of the orchard 
of Dr. Snell, on Sarasota bay, 
says: "We obtained here the 
most delicious oranges I ever tast- 
ed. The man who has the or- 
chard in charge, pays no atten- 
tion to it, except to gather the 
fruit as it is called for; and even 
that labor he seems to consider a 
peculiar hardship. When we 
were there in December and again 
on January 11th, the lemon trees 
(one-fourth of the orchard con- 
sisted of lemon trees) were bent 
to the ground with their immense 
loads of fruit, many of them be- 
ing nearly ruined by the breaking 
of the limbs ; and yet the ground 
was almost covered with as nice 
looking fruit as that which still 
hung upon the trees. The orange 
trees were not so heavily laden, 
and many of them had been in- 
jured by the gale of October last. 
During the last five years these 
trees have had no care." Other 
orchards he speaks of near Fort 
Myers, and adds: "With a reas- 
onable amount of care, this might 
be made one of the most beauti- 
ful as well as remunerative places 
I have seen in Florida. The trees 
are young and thrifty, and the 
soil in this vicinity seems partic- 
ularly adapted to their growth:^ 
and, notwithstanding the want of 
care, and hard usage these trees 
have received, they give promise 
of being exceedingly fruitful in a 
year or two." 

The orange plantations of Flori- 
da have suffered greatly from the 
scale insect, {Coccus hisperidumj, 
which, in some cases, have de- 
stroyed them entirely. Many 


Orange Culture. 


remedies have been tried for the 
extirpation of this pest, such as 
fumigating the trees with tobacco 
smoke, washing them with lime, 
soaps &c., but the gardeners of 
England have found the "best 
remedy the use of the common 
Chamomile. It is said that mere- 
ly hanging up bunches of fresh 
chamomile amongst the branches 
destroys the scale insects, and 
planting it at the roots of the 
trees has also an excellent effect. 
When the bark and leaves are 
much infested, a strong decoction 
of the chamomile should be ap- 
plied with a garden syringe. An- 
other excellent remedy is said to 
be the gas liquor of the gas works, 
largely diluted with water and 
showered over the trees with a 
syringe or engine. As this liquor 
varies in strength, and is some- 
times very strongly impregnated 
with ammonia, it is difficult to 
give a rule for its dilution. The 
safest way is to mix some and ap- 
ply it to the leaves of very tender 
plants; if too strong, it will injure; 
if properly diluted, it promotes 
vegetation and destroys all in- 
sects." — [Downing'' s Fruit Trees.) 
Oranges can be grown to ad- 
vantage in Florida, Louisiana, 
Texas and California. It has 
been said that wherever the or- 
ange begins, the apple ceases, but 
to California at least, where "the 
nights of the temperate zone are 
married to tropical days," and 
where they have no winter, 
this remark does not apply. There 
the orange and the apple grow 
side by side. A committee ap- 
pointed by the California Agri- 
cultural Society to visit farms, 
gardens &c., in that State, visi- 

ted, amongst many other places, 
that of Mr. Wm. Wolfskill, in 
Los Angelos county. The or- 
ange grove of this gentleman was 
eighteen years old, trees twenty- 
five feet high — five feet higher 
than the average in Florida — and 
the yield per tree, from a thou- 
sand to fifteen hundred. One 
year he sold the produce of a sin- 
gle tree for $120. Mr. Wolfskill 
had also large bearing orchards 
of apples, pears and peaches, and 
a beautiful grove of sixty English 
walnuts, fourteen years old, which 
had been bearing four years. — 
This tree seldom bears until ten 
years old. In his nursery were 
young orange trees which had 
been budded and had made a 
growth 0^ eleven feet from the hud 
the first year ! And this was in 
1857, an unusually dry year. In 
this nursery were also a number 
of three year old lemon and lime 
trees, growing finely— some of 
them having made a growth of 
nearly six feet from the bud this 

Downing says that the orange, 
with a very slight protection, in 
the winter, might be grown as 
far north as Baltimore. "It is 
not the freezing which destroys 
them, for they will bear without 
injury, severe frost— 6ui the rup- 
ture of sap vessels by sudden thaw- 
ing. A mere shed, or covering of 
boards will guard against this 
mischief. Accordingly, towards 
the south of Europe, where the 
climate is pretty severe, the 
orange is- grown in rows against 
stone walls, or banks in terraced 
gardens, or trained loosely against 
sheltered trellises; and at the ap- 
proach of winter, they are covered 


A Few Thoughts on Goethe and Schiller. 


with a slight movable frame of 
boards. In mild weather the 
sliding doors are opened and 
air is admitted freely — if very 
severe, a few pots of charcoal are 
placed within the enclosure. — 
When we consider the extreme 
beauty of the orange, beauty of 
foliage, flower, fruit and tree, its 
extreme productiveness, and 
length of life, this seems a small 
amount of care to bestow upon 
it." In speaking of the perfume of 
the blossom, Du Tour in his " Dic- 
tionaire d' Histoire Naturelle," 
grows quaintly eloquent. " The 

odor of the orange flower is the 
standard of perfection of its 
kind. It has not, like that 
of many flowers, a deceitful 
sweetness, which pleases only to in- 
jure. It is not faint, like the 
scent of the jasmine and the rose; 
it does not affect the head like the 
narcissis or tuberose; it does not 
weaken the nerves, but rather 
strengthens them; it is a salutary 
odor, which refreshes the senses 
and enlivens the brain. In fine, 
it has no rival and is as salutary 
as it is delicious." 


It was the darkness before the 
dawn, which. was to burst in such 
regal splendor, over Germany; — 
she slept, as the princess in one 
of her own beautiful legends, — 
aye, she slept, till the depths of 
her great heart should be stirred, 
and the weird tones of her won- 
drous soul-music wake to thrill 
all Christendom. 

Long centuries had made for 
her, a past of warrior-heroes; 
and though the German knights 
had proved their valor, on a 
hundred fields, and the German 
soldier brightened, a hundred tri- 
umphs ; though her emperors 
and kings, led on by glory and. 
the greed of power, had inscribed 
for later ages, that strong arms, 
and numbers, achieve more than 
law or right; — though her vast 
territory had increased, and her 

fair expanses showed prosperous 
cities, towns, and hamlets, — yet 
her grand old language remained 
unappreciated;— the strength and 
beauty of its rich illustrative 
words, — thought-pictures, won- 
derfully set in speech, — organ 
sounds that roll, and vibrate, as 
the full, deep cadence finds its 
home in the heart;— all this, to 
the world, was uncared for, and 

The language of the Germans 
has been called by them, Teutsche, 
or Deutsche, derived from the old 
Teutonic. The word has, also, 
been thought to originate from 
Theut, or Deut, signifying "the 

The improvement of the early bar- 
baric melange of provincialisms, 
and an incongruous foreign jar- 
gon, was first essayed by Charle- 

A Few Thoughts on Goethe and Schiller. 


magne; but the earliest written 
effort, from which German litera- 
ture dates its birth, is a transla- 
tion of the Gospels, by Bishop 
TJlphilas, as far back as A. D. 
360, three hundred years before 
the time of Charlemagne;— and 
this little book claims the honor 
of preceding any attempt in 
either of the modern languages. 

Charlemagne tried a grammar 
of this motley Mosaic of native 
and foreign words, and his reign 
really witnessed the first faint 
glimmering of that mysterious, 
and all wonderful German genius. 

But the only vestige of the war- 
like poems, and stirring ballads of 
this period, has come to us in a 
fragment of a song of Hildebrand, 
given to us by the brothers 
Grimm. AftervVards a change 
came over the rugged Teutonic; 
for intercourse with Italy, and 
France, introduced innovations 
which softened, and improved it. 
Then too the fiery zeal and de- 
votion, which united all Christen- 
dom under the cross, rolled on 
the ear the myriad tongues, 
which rung the alarum for the 
holy sepulchre, — and this also 
contributed to soften the harsher 
original. Later the Hohenstau- 
fens swayed the sceptre, and 
their cultivation, and taste for 
art, fostered improvement. The 
Barbarossa, or red-bearded Fred- 
erick, had for a time dwelt in 
sweet Provence, and from the 
land of Troubadours, glided the 
soft music of their poetry. In 
these, the golden years of Ger- 
many's past, arose the Minne- 
singers, the poets of Love, as the 
name implies; — and their light, 
graceful effusions, refined and 

spiritualized the sturdy old Gothic. 

And so the centuries swept on, 
and the words of strength grew 
stronger, as they chanted German 
valor, — and the warbled lore was 
softer as it sang of the fair, 
golden-haired frauleins by the 
Khine, and thus the grand old 
language gained in majesty and 

The enthusiasm subdued, and 
not vif, as in the French, — not 
passionate as the Italian, nor 
gloomy as that of the Spaniard, 
demanded soul-food, — therefore 
poetry and music became neces- 
sities, and from the twelfth to the 
sixteenth century, the prelude 
only, of what was to come, had 

This strange, metaphysical, 
poetical, yet stolid race, were 
struggling in the twilight, grasp- 
ing after the unattained, yet 
yearned for, — and on the thresh- 
old only, of the brilliant beyond. 

After Luther's time, German 
literature declined; — the "Thirty 
Year's War " desolated the 
country,— and pedantry and af- 
fectation crept into the mystic 

Learning languished during 
the fierce struggles that succeeded, 
and though the cry of the soul 
was still for "light! — more light!" 
there was misty darkness and 
shrouding silence, till the eight- 
eenth century heard the music 
of Klopstock, when his great 
"Messias" was born; and then 
the lesser spheres sounded, and 
the prince-master took his place. 

The old city of Frankfort on 
the Maine, claims the birth of 
Johann Wolfgang Yon Goethe, 
August 28th 1749. Sprung from 


A Few Thoughts on Goethe and Schiller. 


the aristocracy, nursed and pet- 
ted by his beautiful child-mother, 
his bright, sunny childhood pass- 

Impressionable and fiery we 
find him, while yet a boy, ago- 
nized by the intensity of his first 

But the heart that through a 
long life was only to dispense suc- 
cessively, did not break; though 
the boy-love has, with the boy- 
faith, so exquisitely idealized the 
heroine's name, in that Faust 
which thrilled all Germany. De- 
spite the ethics of the poem- 
drama, which the "rigid right- 
eous" so vehemently decry, the 
sweet, girlish trust, the faith and 
pathos of Margaret's love, hold 
the heart against all judgment. 

The pretty poetry of Mignon's 
episode in Wilhelm Meister pleas- 
es, and the refrain of her child- 
sorrow is still echoing in our 
hearts, as she pleads for her re- 
turn to that sunny land, where 
"the gold-orange blooms;" but, 
Margaret, man's spiritualized 
earth-love, attracts with a sad, 
sweet witchery, which holds us 
spell-bound, as only Goethe's 
genius can; — lifts us far above 
the fault, and wrong, and sin, 
though the hard world thundered 
its code, as the organ rolled the 
"Dies Irte," and faint and weary 
the broken lily fell at the cathe- 
dral gates. 

But the perfection of Goethe's 
womanhood is seen in his concep- 
tion of Clara, — the Clara of "Eg- 
mont." Here again the charac- 
teristics, rather than the morale 
must appeal! — aye the strength of 
the passionate devotion of this 
Amy Robsart of Germany, wak- 

ens for her an all-absorbing inter- 
est. In Margaret the trust, and 
clinging, girlish love, are most 
prominent; the development born 
of the dangerous guile, of the ac- 
complished man of the world ; but 
in Clara it is Egmont's inspira- 
tion, — the passion called to life by 
the gallant soldier, brilliant no- 
ble, and impetuous lover. Her lit- 
tle songs are exquisite; breathing 
sometimes a witching coquetry, 
and always her unselfish devotion. 
In this drama, less metaphysical 
than Faust, the scenes are graph- 
ic, and the stirring history of 
the revolt of the Netherlands, 
moves almost as a living spec- 

Some of Egmont's soliloquies 
rise into all the grandeur of the 
truly majestic German, and the 
famous prison reflection is un- 
surpassed by anything which even 
Shakspeare has left to us. 

An English writer, comparing 
the Juliet of Shakspeare with 
Schiller's Thekla, has remarked 
that in Juliet is found an " infini- 
ty of love," but in Thekla "an 
eternity," and in truth the wo- 
manly characteristics are wonder- 
fully developed in this rare gal- 
lery. Sweet, trustful Margaret 
pleads her faith-love, for even 
when dying her lips fashion the 
name of her beloved;— Clarchen, 
with more of the strength of pas- 
sion, exhibits the fathomless 
depths of her intenser nature, 
while Thekla— Schiller's pure, 
self-sacrificing girl-patriot, passes 
away in the music of her broken 
heart, as she murmurs her exqui- 
site farewell, in the sweet, sad 

" Icli babe gelebt, und geliebet !" 


A Few Thoughts on Goethe and Schiller. 


And this his earliest, and most 
spirituelle creation, recalls another 
of the great lights, which bright- 
ened the eighteenth century. 

John Christopher Frederic 
Yon Schiller, was born on the 
tenth of November, 1759, at 
Marbach on the Neckar. And 
what a contrast his infancy and 
boyhood present, when compared 
with the cloudless happiness of 
Goethe's life. Born in poverty, 
and educated at a military-mon- 
astic school, he was restricted 
from all intercourse with women ; 
for Charles, duke of Wurtemberg, 
thought it most conducive to the 
intellectual development of his 
beneficiaries, to allow only the 
visits of mothers, and very young 
sisters. Heart-food, and brain- 
food were alike dusty books;— and 
we find the talent, which, in the 
future, was to give us Don Car- 
los, Marie Stuart, Thekla, and 
the thrilling drama of William 
Tell, — diligent in the study of 
physic and jurisprudence. 

But the soul of the thirsting 
neophyte panted for its native 
element, and we watch him 
through the stolen hours of the 
night, reveling in what was to 
make his fame, throughout the 

And now the student life 
passes away, and we find the in- 
dependent German spirit, boldly 
and bravely struggling for free- 
dom of thought; and unwilling to 
submit to the sway and espionage 
of his old patron, he escaped 
from the army, and then appeared 
"The Robbers,"— the first born 
of that wonderful intellect, — and 
a drama of rare talent, and mar- 
velous power. 

Afterwards came Don Carlos, 
Marie Stuart, Wallenstein, and 
Piccolomini, Revolt of United 
Netherlands, and as the last ef- 
fort, and crowning glory, "Wil- 
liam Tell." The story of Don 
Carlos, as told by Prescott, in his 
simple and beautiful English, is 
familiar to all; — but the grace 
and eloquence of the love-pas- 
sages in the drama, reqviire all 
the fiery imagination of this 
grand old master. Marie Stuart 
as portrayed by Schiller, has all 
the womanly dignity, with which 
we love to associate the beautiful 
queen of Scotland. The garden 
scene has become world-renown- 
ed, since Ristori's perfect render- 
ing, and gentle accents have 
thrilled two continents with their 

In preparing himself for Wallen- 
stein, and the Piccolomini, Schil- 
ler collected material for " The 
Revolt of the United Nether- 
lands," a period with which we 
are now well acquainted, through 
the researches of the terse, and 
elegant Prescott, and tireless 

Schiller's life differs entirely 
from that of his great compeer; — 
for Goethe, with his rare beauty, 
seemed born to happiness; — while 
his joyous, expansive heart, ever 
life-giving, received, and gave 
forth, without ceasing, emphati- 
cally an absolvent, and whirled 
on by destiny, he dispensed what 
might be called, his life-chari- 
ties; — receiving always a more 
costly recompense, as Gretchen, 
Frederica, and a hundred others 
answer to the roll-call of his un- 
resisting, and irresistible heart. 

But of all the many, — the his- 


A Few Thoughts on Goethe and Schiller. 


tory of Frederica, the timid, shy, 
yet loving maiden, stands con- 
spicuous in her sweet forgiving 
sorrow; — a mute, appealing re- 
buke to the faithless poet. Through 
long years of neglect and for- 
getfulness, still she clung to this 
grand passion of her life; and 
"when wooed, her reply was, 

" The heart that has once been 
Goethe's, can never be another's." 

Schiller, differently situated, 
had life's hard realities to strug- 
gle against, for poverty, with its 
iron grasp, had seized him, and 
he had little time for love's dal- 
liance, or its joys; in fact, his early 
isolation from women, told plainly 
in his writings, and his heart- 
impressions were neither many, 
nor inspiring; therefore, we are 
not suprised at his friendship — 
love - marriage. Whether the 
heart of this mighty German 
could have been otherwise waken- 
ed, remains a mystery, but cer- 
tainly the perfection of womanly 
passion, has never been evidenced 
in his heroines. 

Schiller generally wrote at 
night, strengthened by very 
strong coffee:— this was the habit 
of a life time,— and to and fro, 
through the cold German mid- 
nights, would he pace his room, 
while the grand conceptions of 
his magnificent intellect were 
dreamed into realities. 

But the battle, the toil, and the 
wear of a troubled existence told 
upon him, while yet in the flush 
of his manhood. An earnest spir- 
it, disdaining the mean and the 
sensual, his strivings were after 
the pure, the true and the good; 
and as his last born, his farewell 
benison to his fatherland, he be- 

queathed his great drama of Will- 
iam Tell. 

Who that has read this does not 
feel his pulses quicken, as the 
splendid talent of the author does 
noble battling for the Right? — 
and, as the last flush on the 
Eutli dies along the Swiss heav- 
ens, we feel Schiller's spirit float- 
ing upward in its light. 

As the one illustrates the Ger- 
man genius, so the other stands 
colossal as the German talent. 

Even the personal appearance 
of the men, seem to speak their 
especial characteristics. Goethe 
was tall and majestic— the hand- 
some man of Germany ; — with that 
marvelous beauty which lit every 
lineament with the reflex of his 
soul; — and Schiller, towering in 
his rugged outlines, large featured, 
and irregul3,r, yet always bearing 
the impress of the great intellect, 
that swayed him with imperial 

But they both have passed^ 
where to use Schiller's own lan- 

" Word is kept with Hope, and to wild 
Belief, a lovely truth is given." 

And the old German is singing 
still their echoes — the deliciou& 
thrilling minor, and the vibrating 
heart-stirring bass; — a grandly 
weird symphony, born in the wild 
German mountains, and nursed 
by the blue, rippling Rhine. 

Again we listen to the sweet 
Minnesingers, and again we bow 
in reverence to the magnificent 
hymns of the seventeenth centu- 
ry: — now the spell of Goethe's 
genius lures us, — and anon 
Heine's silvery music wilders, as 
did his own beautiful Lorelei. 
The soul- chants of Schiller waken, 


The Haversack. 


and vibrate to the very depths of 
the spirit, — while Kremer, fiery, 
impassioned, freedom- loving Kre- 
mer, shields us with that last 
hynan, — born, while his immor- 
tality hovered on the brink of 

And so the mighty host passes 
onward, — onward! — marshaled 

into the far eternity; but, their 
teachings remain forever in our 
hearts, and as an inspiration from 
them echoes the sentiment, 

" Whoever with an earnest soul, 
Strives for some end, from this low 

world afar, 
Still upward travels tlio' he miss the 

And straj'S — hut towards a star !" 


We suppose that the ideas of 
discipline were not very rigid, in 
either of the hostile armies, at the 
beginning of the war. Unfortun- 
ately for us, the Federal army, 
having with it the nucleus of the 
old army, was constantly improv- 
ing in character and tone, while 
we rather declined than improved 
in essential particulars. Some 
very crude notions, however, were 
corrected, and from Gen. Jas. H. 
Clanton we get an illustration of 
a change for the better 

Enlightened Constituents.— Gen. 
Bragg had the organization at 
Pensacola of the first troops in the 
field. His views, as is well known, 
were very strict, and those of 
many of his subordinates very 
loose. One day, he was giving a 
certain Colonel "a blowing up" 
for certain conduct subversive of 
"good order and military disci- 
pline," when the irritated Colonel 

"Sir, I am not responsible to 
you for my behavior, I am ac- 
countable only to my enlightened 
constituents, who elected me 
Colonel of their regiment!" 

This is precisely the view taken 
of the situation by the Radical 
chiefs. They are responsible nei- 
ther to the Constitution, nor to 
the country, only to the enlight- 
ened constituents, who put them 
in power. 

"We are indebted to Col. Gray- 
son, of Henderson, Ivy., for the 
annexed incidents. 


In the summer of 1864, Gen. 
Buford, of the C. S. A., commis- 
sioned Capt. Ollie B. Steele to en- 
ter Southern Kentucky, and re- 
cruit for the South. In accordance 
with his commission, he entered 
the State, and during the sum- 
mer, raised a considerable force. 
He, and his men, early in Sep- 
tember, started for the South, 
and on the 14th of the month ar- 
rived on the banks of Cumberland 
river. Just before they entered 
Eddyville, on the banks of the 
river, they met a man coming 
from the village, who assured the 
Captain that there were no 
Federal soldiers in the town. 

The Haversack, 


The Southern boys moved in 
haste to look for a crossing place, 
the night was very dark — no 
sooner had they reached the ferry 
than to their great surprise, they 
encountered a large force of 
"Yanks," belonging to Colonel 
Burgess' command, concealed 
under the bank — there was also a 
portion of Colonel B's. men am- 
bushed in their rear. In a mo- 
ment, Captain Steele and nearly 
all his men were taken prisoners — 
a few of them eftected their es- 
cape, under cover of darkness. 
They lost about forty thousand 
dollars in horses, ammunition, 
arms, &c., &c. Captain Steele 
was taken into a room, searched, 
and divested of all his papers, 
and pen-knife, then, in order to 
secure his agreeable company for 
the remainder of the night, they 
tied him, hand and foot. Early 
the next morning his arms were 
pinioned behind him, and he 
placed upon a mule, minus sad- 
dle or blanket, and hurried off to 
Princeton, (a small town not far 
distant) to Colonel Burgess' head- 
quarters. Here they took him to 
a hotel, and fastened him, at full 
length upon a plank which was 
in the bar-room — in this attitude 
he remained all day. Nearly all 
the citizens called to see him — 
some seemed to rejoice greatly, 
while others looked on with pity 
and sorrow. -The following day, 
Captain Steele, two of his men, 
and eleven of General Adam 
Johnson's command were placed 
on board the steamer "Colossus, " 
under charge of Lieut. Higgins, 
with eight well armed soldiers, 
and started for Louisville, the 
head-quarters of Gen. Burbridge, 

who had an insatiahle thirst for 
Southern blood. Captain Steele 
was aware that Burbridge had 
issued an order to execute him 
whenever caught, and that his 
order was in the hands of Colonel 
Glenn, commandant of the Post 
at Henderson. 

Therefore, Captain Steele de- 
termined to regain his liberty or 
lose his life in the attempt — what 
was to be done? to go to Louis- 
ville, death awaited him and his 
men, should he fail to rescue him- 
self from the guard on the boat, 
the same dreadful fate would be 
the result. Under these circum- 
stances, he conceived the idea of 
rushing upon the guard and dis- 
arming them. This plan was 
disclosed to his men. Only six 
out of thirteen consented to aid 
him. The plan was this: When 
you see me (said Captain S.) 
commence to button my coat, 
plant your feet for a spring upon 
the man you have singled out. 
The project was now well under- 
stood. On the morning of Sept. 
17th, the perilous moment ar- 
rived—six of the thirteen men 
stepped out and remarked to the 
Captain, that they would live or 
die with him. All the guard 
were now on duty, with the ex- 
ception of one, whose gun was 
across his lap, and he, apparently, 
asleep. Capt. Steele commenced 
buttoning his coat — the last but- 
ton is now in the button-hole. 
The attack is made — the struggle 
is fearful for a few moments, it is 
doubtful who will be master of 
the arms. Captain Steele suc- 
ceeded in getting into his posses- 
sion one musket — in one moment 
more his antagonist had received 


The SaversacJc. 


its contents, and fell dead at his 
feet; he then threw the gun down, 
and seized a revolver which was at- 
tached to the body of the dead 
man. One of the guard, an ex- 
ceedingly stout man, rushed for- 
ward, grasped the pistol, and en- 
deavored to wrench it from Capt. 
S. After struggling for some 
time, he succeeded in getting the 
Captain's head between his knees, 
both holding on like " grim 
death" to the revolver. In this 
perilous situation, one of the 
prisoners sprang forward, seized 
the discharged musket, and thrust 
the bayonet through the Yankee, 
killing him instantly — another 
prisoner succeeded in getting 
possession of the gun of one 
of the guard, and shot one 
arm quite off at the shoulder. 
At this juncture the remainder 
of the guard surrendered — having 
lost three men out of eight. Dur- 
ing the little conflict, Lieut. Hig- 
gins was no where to oe seen. Af- 
ter a cessation of hostilities dili- 
gent search was instituted for 
him; he was finally discovered 
snugly ensconced under the bed of 
the chamber-maid — a very cordial 
invitation was extended to him to 
come out, as Capt. Steele wished 
to behold the light of his counte- 
nance. As he approached the Cap- 
tain, he fell on his knees and be- 
sought him to spare his life. Capt. 
Steele assured him that he would 
not harm him, but told him, that 
he must give a correct statement 
of the whole affair. 

The boat was landed at Weston, 
on the Kentucky side. All the 
government property was taken 
ofi". There were sixteen thousand 
dollars on the boat belonging to 

VOL. Y.— NO. II. 

private individuals, which was 
unmolested. At that time Capt. 
Steele was only twenty years of 

"W3I. P. Grayson. 
Henderson, Ky. 

From a member of the late 5th 
South Carolina regiment, of the 
so-called Confederate army, we 
get the two incidents below: 

At the battle of Seven Pines, 
after the 5th South Carolina regi- 
ment had taken a line of entrench- 
ments from the enemy, the regi- 
ment was formed in them, so as 
to front a dense mass of brush and 
felled tiniber. A considerable 
number of federal stragglers had 
collected in this abatis, and while 
we were occupying their former 
position, poured a pretty heavy 
fire into us, which made it quite 
dangerous for any one to raise his 
head above the works. About 
that time, private A. Spears, of 
company H, had his attention at- 
tracted by a very large, fine horse, 
which seemed to be hitched to a 
snag at the end of the abatis, and 
fully two hundred yards in front 
of our line. Without orders from 
any one, he crossed over the 
works, in the midst of the firing 
from both sides, and moved for- 
ward towards the horse with the 
intention of capturing it. As he 
advanced, nearly the whole regi- 
ment ceased firing, and watched 
his movements with almost breath- 
less silence. At length he arrived 
within about ten paces of the 
horse, when he was suddenly halt- 
ed by one of the federals, who was 
lying behind a log very near the 
horse, and who, until then, had 
been entirely concealed. Nothing 



The Haversack. 


daunted, however, Spears imme- 
diately came to a ready, and or- 
dered the blue-coat to surrender, 
which was no sooner said than 
done. The brave fellow then 
loosed the horse — which, by the 
way, was a superb animal — and 
deliberately marched back to our 
line with both his prizes, amidst 
the hearty cheers of his comrades. 
His success in the adventure was, 
however, quite remarkable, as I 
was told afterwards that, while 
in the act of cocking his gun, the 
cap dropped off, which, of course, 
left him at the mercy of his pris- 
oner — though fortunately the lat- 
ter was not aware of it, and quiet- 
ly submitted to the orders of his 

Almost every one is familiar 
with the tremendous crash made 
by a brass band at the commence- 
ment of certain pieces of music. 
I once saw it have quite an amus- 
ing eflect upon a Confederate sol- 
dier in Virginia. When the Wash- 
ington artillery, of Kew Orleans, 
was removed from the 2nd South 
Carolina brigade, in '61, the band 
of our regiment — the 5th South 
Carolina— decided to give them a 
serenade on the night previous to 
their departure. Accordingly, the 
band, accompanied by a consider- 
able crowd of the 5th, went over to 
the artillery camp. It was a calm, 
clear night, all the noise of the 
camp had died away, and with 
the exception of one or two here 
and there, the whole section was 
fast asleep. The musicians took 
their stand between one of the 
caissons and a large spreading 
oak, at the root of which, stretch- 
ed out upon his blanket, lay one 

of the artillerymen quietly taking 
his repose, and utterly uncon- 
scious of anything that was going 
on around him. At last the en- 
tire band, both drums, cymbals, 
horns and all, struck up some 
lively air, with a crash equal to 
the discharge of a twenty-four 
pounder— away they went, blow- 
ing most furiously, and entirelj- 
ignorant of the immense excite- 
ment they had created in the 
mind of the poor fellow lying un- 
der them, who, at the first sound 
of their instruments, bounced into 
the air like an India-rubber ball, 
and apparently without moving a 
single muscle — it seemed as if the 
sound of the horns had tossed him 
up, without changin-g the hori- 
zontal position of his body. He 
lit on his feet, however, and still 
half asleep, with the most ludi- 
crous expression of horror on his 
face, exclaimed, or rather gasped 
out — " Great Heavens! has the 

whole d d battery blown up?" 

He was agreeably surprised when 
informed that only the horns, and 
not the battery, had been blown 
up. E. R. w. 

Dr. I. E. Nagle sends the next 
anecdote from New Orleans, La. 

At the battle of Lebanon, Ten- 
nessee, the 11th Texas cavalry 
belonged to John Morgan's com- 
mand. It was made up of a set 
of brave and reckless men, 
thoroughly acquainted with all 
the peculiar accomplishments of 
their section, including the use of 
the lasso. Their skill with the 
lasso was often made available in 
procuring them certain luxuries, 
such as fat pig, fat turkey, and 
fat chicken. On the day of the 


The Haversack. 


battle, one of the llth lassoed a 
Dutch cavalryman in the Yankee 
service. He was a fat, thick-set, 
surly fellow, with a stolid coun- 
tenance, and' as he sat squarely 
on his horse, giving a grunt of 
dissatisfaction, when a playful 
twitch was made on the rope 
round his neck, he presented a 
spectacle of intense interest to 
the surrounding rebs. Approach- 
ing General M., the Texan sa- 
luted him respectfully, and told 
him that he had captivated the 
Dutchman at the end of his line. 

Dutchy blurted out, "Ish you 
General Morgans?" 

The General replied in the af- 

"Veil den, vot sort of a tarn 
vay is dish of vitin? You lets 
your mensh ketch a feller mit a 
hell of a r-r-ope rount mit his 
neck, so like a tamt tog. Dish is 
von hell's of a vay of vitin mit a 
tarn r-r-ope!" 

General Wilcox sends an anec- 
dote of Captain Davy Crockett, 
of Arkansas, the grandson of the 
celebrated Crockett, of Tennessee 
and Texas. 

The Captain was going home 
on a leave of absence, accompa- 
nied by a soldier, during the last 
days of the so-called. He had 
ridden all day, and hungry and 
weary, he stopped at night-fall 
at a house by the way- side, and 
asked for lodgings. 

" Can't take you," said an old 
man, at the door, "got nothing 
to eat. The rebels, they comes 
along and eats up all we got, and 
then the Yankees, they comes 
along and they eats up the bal- 

" Yery well," says Crockett, 
"I am too tired to go any farther. 
Let my horses stay in your lot, so 
they can't get away, and I will 
sleep here on the ground." 

The old man looked long and 
inquisitively at him, and then 
said, " pears like I ought to know 
you, what mout be your name?" 

"I am Captain Crockett, and 
this is my friend, Kobinson Cru- 
soe, from Selkirk's Island," 

"Is you enny kin to Davy 
Crockett of the Western Deestrict 
of Tennessee?" 

The Captain replied, " I am his 

" Get down, Captain, and come 
in. Here, old woman, is the 
grandson of our old neighbor, 
Davy Crockett, of the Western 
Deestrict, and this is Mr. Robin- 
son Crusoe. We knowed the 
Captain's granddaddy powerful 
well, but we wos'nt so well ac- 
quainted with the kinfolks of Mr. 

Hendersonville, Mississippi, is 
responsible for the next anecdote. 

During the battle of Seven 
Pines, the 14th Mississippi was 
thrown out on picket, with orders 
to fire on any one coming in 

Private Mclntire, being on the 
extreme right of the regiment, 
and seeing a man advancing, un- 
armed, from the front, fired, and 
killed him. On creeping up to 
him, and carefully examining his 
person, he found that he had been 
discharged from the Yankee ser- 
vice, the day previous, for being 
91071 compos mentis^ and having 
been left in camp (as was sup- 
posed) by the troops who weie 


The Haversack. 


then fighting on our left, he had 
strayed to our portion of the line, 
and was killed, as above related. 
After the fighting was over we 
buried, decently, the man, whose 
name proved to be John Deal. 

A well known jirivate of the 
regiment placed a head-board 
over the grave, with the following 
inscription, rudely carved, on it, 
with the point of a knife. 

Here lies a Yankee, byname John Deal, 
T7ho was never known, by us, to steal : 

But for the want of a gun to lire, 
Was killed by the 7-ebel Mclntire. 


From a former member of 
Semmes' brigade we get an anec- 
dote of one who did not believe in 
the Maine liquor law. 

A few days before the battle of 
Seven Pines, Kershaw's South 
Carolina brigade was moving to 
take position on the right of 
Semmes' Georgia brigade. As the 
South Carolinians came in front 
of our brigade, they gave three 
cheers for " the gallant Semmes 
of Georgia." Not to be out done 
in courtesy, we roared lustily back 
" three cheers for the chivalrous 
Ivershaw of South Carolina. " The 
last lingering notes had hardly 
faded on the breeze, when a voice 
from far down our line was faint- 
1}'^ but distinctly heard, " three 
cheers for me, boys, and I am 

d d drunk at that." There is 

but a step from the sublime to the 
ridiculous. The South Carolin- 
ians were soon out of sight, but 
not out of hearing of the laughter 
following the burlesque upon the 
scene of the " mutual admiration 

An old reb, who has wandered 

to the loyal town of Elizabeth, 
New Jersey, tells us of different 
styles of running. 

In July, 1864, a portion of Car- 
ter's battalion of artillery, A. N. 
V. A., was stationed below Eich- 
mond in the neighborhood. The 
river was closely patrolled by Yan- 
kee gunboats, and owing to their 
watchfulness, extensive fields of 
wheat on Turkey Island and 
Strawberry Plains could not be 
harvested, and were lost to a coun- 
try suffering for food. It was 
part of the parental discipline in- 
flicted by the best government the 
world ever saw, " to starve out 
the rebellion" and restore wander- 
ing prodigals to the dear old 

The men being heartily tired of 
corn meal, were eager to get flour, 
and numbers of them went into 
these fields, and with their pocket 
knives, cut down as much as they 
could carry. This was threshed 
in a rough way and ground into 
flour at an adjoining mill. Men of 
all arms of the service soon swarm- 
ed over the fields, and thus sup- 
plied themselves with an article 
which had become a great luxury. 

One day, late in July, I was 
sent down to ascertain the posi- 
tion and number of the gunboats, 
and stopped where about a hun- 
dred men were reaping with their 
pocket knives. Private John T. 
Mills, of Page's battery, was one 
of the reapers. He was one of the 
best soldiers in the army, and the 
bravest of the brave, but the inci- 
dent I am about to relate will 
show that he could run too. A 
party of about fifty marines had 
landed under cover of the river 
bank, and when first seen, were 


The Haversack. 


only about 60 yards from the 
reapers, who were wholly unarm- 
ed. The marines opened a rapid, 
but harmless fire, and then charg- 
ed forward, firing as they advan- 
ced. Mills and your correspond- 
ent retired promptly, without re- 
gard to the order of our going. — 
Being mounted, your correspond- 
ent used his spurs with vigor, and 
he flatters himself, with effect. — 
Mills being on foot, started off at a 
speed which would not have done 
discredit to the Olympic races. — 
Looking over my shoulders, I saw 
him stop, coolly inspect his pur- 
suers, and then started at a run 
again. When I had reached a 
place where I could talk with him 
without danger of unreasonable 
interruption from our " Northern 
brethren," I waited till he came 
up, and inquired, 

" Mills, what on earth did you 
stop for, right in the hottest of 
the firing?" 

"Well," replied he, " I wanted 
to gauge my running, and I stop- 
ped to see whether it was cavalry 
or infantry after me. I was run- 
ning on the infantry schedule, 
but if it had been cavalry behind 
me, I would have run on the cav- 
alry schedule, and gone a little 

We have heard that a man 
named Schenck, at a place called 
Vienna, ran on the cavalry sched- 
ule, and that no impediments 
might obstruct the vigor of his 
speed, he dispensed with his hat 
and coat. 

Our next comes from Kapoleon, 

While we were at Grenada, 
Mississippi, a young lieutenant, 

who felt his position more than his 
position felt him, had a very pe- 
culiar cap. It was made of a 
coon skin, and really looked very 
well, though rather- coonish, as 
the tail was left hanging behind. 
This youngster had occasion one 
day to ride through Price's in- 
fantry, and a more noisy, roaring, 
mischievous set of fellows could 
not be found, the whole world 
over. It was raining very hard, 
and the young lieutenant met the 
men returning, hastily, from the 
drill- ground. He was not long in 
hearing, " here's the same old 
coon." " G-et out of that coon- 
skin, I know you ar thar, see your 
little legs a stickin' out." Anoth- 
er began to whistle, and call for 
dogs, saying, "boys, we'll catch 
the varmint and, have a mess of 
coon - meat. " " No, ' ' replied 
another, " it's too grreen to eat." 
'Taint none, it's been killed long 
enough to smell a little already." 
" Spiled (spoiled) by its elevated 
position," suggested another. — 
These jeers were too much for the 
dignified lieutenant, putting on 
an important air and blustering 
manher, he bawled out defiantly, 
" do you know who you are talk- 
ing to!" 

A little sallow-faced, pumpkin- 
eating Arkansian replied, 

"Yes, we does, we are talking 
to spiled (spoiled) meat." 

The spiled meat had sufficient 
vitality left to wheel his horse, 
dash his spurs into the poor ani- 
mal and gallop away. 

D. H. c. M. 

Halifax, N. C, gives a charac- 
teristic anecdote of the generous 
and lamented Branch : 


The Haversack. 


By a contribution in a late 
number of The Land We Love, 
in which a chivalric comparison is 
instituted between Sir Philip 
Sidney and Bentiago, I am re- 
minded of two acts of nobleness, 
worthy of Southrons, which 
equal, if not eclipse, the his- 
torian's praise of Sidney, and 
Lockhart's pompous verse, laud- 
ing Bentiago. 

As the late, lamented. General 
L. O. B. Branch was covering the 
retreat of the Confederates from 
the battle of Kewbern, in 1862, 
the enemy approaching rapidly, 
he observed some soldiers drag- 
ging slowly along in a blanket, 
some one badly wounded. In- 
quiring whom they had, he was 

told. Captain M . General 

Branch immediately said, " here. 
Captain, take my horse, and make 
your escape. 

The Captain says: "No, Gene- 
ral, you are more valuable to our 
cause, I am only a Captain, go 

General Branch would not leave 
him until he had given directions 
concerning his comfort, and a 
shorter route for them to take 
him. He however, was captured, 
after a long time recovered, was 
released, and did good service: 
while General Branch, whom his 
country mourns, fell, on the Po- 
tomac, in the spring-time of his 
glory. And when the time shall 
come, as it will, for us to honor 
properly, his peaceful grave, let 
us not forget this act of unalloy- 
ed humanity. M. t. d. 

Memphis, Tennessee, tells of an 
incorrigible rebel: 
In Shelby county, in this State, 

there lived, during the war, a 
rich specimen of the unrecon- 
structed. During the Yankee oc- 
cupancy of the county, he was 
arrested as a "rebel sympathizer," 
and ordered to take the oath. 
Some days of confinement, how- 
ever, served to " develop his 
latent Unionism," and he sent 
for the Yankee commander, and 
expressed his willingness to "swal- 
low the nasty thing." He, how- 
ever, probably expressed the 
opinion that he would throw it up 
again, and inquired whether he 
would be released even if he 
should throw up. Being assured 
that he would be released upon 
taking the oath, without regard 
to the nausea that might be pro- 
duced, he began to swallow the 
words of the oath after the offi- 
cer. But the formula was not 
half through, when he cried, 
"Stop, Mr. Yank, I want to 
puke." He went to the window, 
and did actually throw up, and 
then came back and swallowed 
the rest of the oath. Again, he 
returned to the window and re- 
lieved himself, and declared that 
it had all come up, and tasted 
"powerful bitter." We have 
heard of " a new way of paying 
old debts:" but certainly this was 
a new way of relieving one's con- 

A crowd of wounded boys were 
sitting around the stove in the 
Bragg Hospital when heavy jokes 
and left-handed compliments were 
passed on diflferent Southern 
States. The manners, customs 
and language were freely discuss- 
ed and freely criticised. Some 
sharp and telling things were said 


The Haversack. 


by an Alabamian about East 
Tennessee. A Tennessean took 
up the defence and said: 

" Well, boys, I admit that there 
is too much ignorance in East 
Tennessee, but some of her neigh- 
bors have not much to boast of. 
I got my first bad wound in '62^ 
and as my home was in the Yan- 
kee hands, I was furloughed to go 
where I pleased, and I went to 
Alabama. I took up my abode 
with an old lady, who was a fire- 
eating hater of Yankees, and had 
as little toleration for a blue- coat 
as for the Queen's English. One 
day, when the conversation turn- 
ed rather gloomily upon the pros- 
pect of the final success of the 
Yankees, she flew into a great 
passion and cried out, ' never, 
never, they may captivate all the 
men, they may arrogate all the 
women, they may fisticate all the 
land, but they can never congre- 
gate the ^outh, never, never, nev- 

The old lady did not dream of 
the congregate relations which 
the school marms would establish 
with " Afric'-s chosen race" in 
the congregated South. 

Born in the dark of the 
Moon. — Spite of the teachings of 
men of science to the contrary, 
many persistently insist that vega- 
tables and cereals should be plan- 
ted according to the phases of the 

moon. Root crops are to be 
planted in the dark of the moon, 
and other crops from new to full 
moon. A Dutch farmer would 
consider it the height of folly, 
and a gross disrespect to the 
memory of his fathers to neglect 
the state of the moon, when plant- 
ing time had come. 

Major of the — th Texas, 

foot, was remarkable for the size 
of his lower extremities, and it 
was thought that he had appro- 
priately chosen the foot service, 
when he entered the army, as a 
lieutenant of infantry. He never 
mired down on the worst roads, 
and trod over the worst slosh as 
calmly, and as majestically as 
though on a Macadamized road. 
In time, the casualties of war 
and the gallantry of the man 
brought about promotion, and the 
lieutenant was changed into a 
Field Oflicer. But his elevation 
on horseback, like many other 
elevations in life, only revealed 
the Major's defects. Those enor- 
mous feet (and they were enor- 
mous) were the occasion of many 
sarcastic remarks, often in the 
gallant Major's hearing. One 
day, a discussion arose as to the 
cause of the tremendous pedal de- 
velopments, when a philosophic 
reb explained, by saying, " the 
Major was born in the dark of the 
moon and all run to root!" 


Burial of General Morgan, 



We copy the following from the 
Louisville (Ky.,) Courier: 

In all the land of the captive 
there is no spot more sacred than 
the cemetery which the Virgin- 
ians call Hollywood. It looks 
upon the James, which runs to- 
ward the sea to mingle its waters 
and its glories with those of the 
Potomac. On the banks of these 
two rivers there lived the noblest 
of their race. By their gurgling 
waters there now sleep better 
men than those who live. In 
that hallowed ground heroes rest, 
who saw the splendor of the Wil- 
derness, and who escaped the 
honorable misfortune of the Ap- 
pomattox. The trees were assum- 
ing their new livery; the grass 
was growing, a few flowers were 
struggling to add their beauty to 
the holy scene, and, while spring 
was leaping from the lap of winter, 
all that remained of the most at- 
tractive tenant of Hollywood was 
taken from its noble society to 
be returned to the State that bore 
him. If Virginians regret to see 
such a superb monument remov- 
ed from the Holy City, let them 
receive consolation from the re- 
flection that there are still sleep- 
ing there, in silent graves, heroes 
sufiicient to fill the history of 
twenty nations with examples 
which ere long may urge the cap- 
tives to break the chains that 
bind them and strike once more 
for freedom. 

As the solemn cortege moves to- 
day beneath the shadow of Clay's 

monument, and by the grave 
where Hanson sleeps, bearing the 
dead body of the knightliest 
horseman who ever drew sword 
to guard his own and his coun- 
try's honor, braver than all men — 
more generous than brave — more 
merciful than generous — followed 
by men who had often before fol- 
lowed him where danger was — 
curious thoughts will arise in the 
minds of Kentuckians there. — 
Why is this man dead? Flatter- 
ed by nature with every grace to 
adorn his person, with the power 
to charm alike manhood and 
beauty — no rank too high — no 
society too refined — no place in 
which he would not have been an 
ornament — why was this man 
killed? Were there Kentuckians 
who guided foreign regiments 
across the State to pillage Vir- 
ginia, and to murder Hanson, 
Sidney Johnston, and Morgan? 
Perhaps it is well they are dead; 
but remember that there was no 
price upon their sword. High 
rank did not allure their virtue, 
nor did bribes win their arms to 
enslave their State. Army com- 
missions covering a foreign scheme 
to pillage their own people, were 
spurned as gentlemen spurn dis- 
honor. Better that they had not 
lived to see the disgrace of the 
country they loved and served so 
well. By the aid of Kentuckians 
a false Virginian now domineers 
over once free Kentucky. The 
voice of eloquence is softened into 
a whine of complaint. Tones of 


Burial of General Morgan. 


defiance are hushed into a whis- 
per of cowardice. Timid men sit 
in high places with too much sel- 
fishness to abdicate, and too little 
courage to execute. With Joab's 
friendship, these timid men coun- 
sel those who obeyed Johnston, 
Breckinridge, Buckner, Hanson, 
and Morgan, to confess that they 
are ashamed of the fiag they fol- 
lowed. Ashamed of what? The 
fact of defeat and of humiliating 
conquest is adrnitted. But 
ashamed of what? Ashamed that 
we refused to act with dishonor? 
Eefused to aid foreigners to con- 
quer our own people? Ashamed 
because bribes could not allure, 
nor danger intimidate? Never! 
never! never! Never, by the 
glories of Stonewall Jackson and 
of Lee; never, by the grand and 
picturesque death of Sidney John- 
ston ; never, by the ashes of 
Hanson and of Morgan; never, 
by the untarnished sword of 
Breckinridge will we confess that 
we are ashamed of the flag we 
followed ! 
Let the cortege move on with 

its dust. The body was killed in 
war, but I defy the conqueror to 
suppress the name that rises from 
the grave. Tradition will tell it, 
history will perpetuate it, and 
song in sweetest music will pour 
forth its glory from the lips of chil- 
dren, and in the feeble utterances 
of age. The knightly horseman will 
be the first picture which the father 
will paint for his boy, and the 
strongest example to urge man- 
hood to honorable action. 

Farewell, friend of my youth, 
companion in life, brave, generous , 
merciful comrade, farewell. Upon 
the turf that covers you, fair hands 
will strew i7nmortelles. Beautiful 
word, for it accords so well with 
Morgan's name. I will go often 
to your grave, and I may feel 
your spirit there, and many more 
will go with me. Farewell. Let 
the cortege move on. The tears 
that flow down the cheek from 
eyes not used to weeping come 
from men who never wept in bat- 
tle. Let the brave soldiers weep, 
over their dead chieftain. 






A loyal editor in Dixie does not 
repose upon a bed of roses. Some 
of his labors may be judged of by 
a plain statement of the kind of 
letters received at this office, and 
we give a real, and not a fancy 
picture. Inquiries about a situa- 
tion for an old man, for a young 
man, for an old lady, for a young 
lady; inquiries about Scuppernong 
vines, about the price of land in 
the South, about the water-falls 
of the South; inquiries about a 
missing soldier, about a stolen 
watch (referred to loyal men every 
where,) about the best kind of 
milch cows, (none as to calf,) 
about the worst desolated portion 
of the South, (referred writer to 
Maj. Nicholls' "March to the 
Sea.") Kext, inquiries about Ke- 
ports of Battles, (referred to 
Printing Department of Confed- 
erate Government); inquiries 
about the authorship of a book, 
of a story, of a poem; inquiries 
about the address of certain liter- 
ateurs, of certain Generals of the 
so-called, of members of the Con- 
federate Congress. Here we may 
mention that we actually received 
a letter from a Mississippi soldier 
asking us to find out the given 
name and Post Office of his sweet- 
heart! We set about this inter- 
esting investigation with as much 
energy as Butler or Stevens on a 
mission from their great leader 
below, and we learned that the 
young lady had plighted heart 
and hand to another man. Some- 
times we have a variation in the 

shape of complaints against book- 
keepers, complaints against loyal 
post-masters (from some unrepent- 
ant rebel), complaints against 
printers, complaints against proof- 
readers. Again, comes the curt, 
challenge-like demand " what has 
become of my wife's poem?" or 
" what have you done with my 
article?" Worse than all, more 
vexatious than all, more perplex- 
ing than all, more unendur- 
able than all is the unceasing 
flow into the sanctum of poetry 
that ivon't flow. Fainting on the 
dusty march, freezing in camp, 
starving on short rations, fighting 
yankees— all are positive enjoy- 
ments compared with the daily 
duties of the loyal editor in Dixie. 

Maj. Gen. Butler, U. S. A., 
boasts that he has been always in 
advance of his party, in his grand 
ideas of progress, emancipation, 
arming the negroes, impeaching 
the President, &c., &c., and that 
the Eepublicans followed slowly 
and painfully his leadership for 
a while, but at length came 
squarely up abreast with him. — 
We think that the illustrious hero 
presents his claims too strongly, 
or that he does injustice to his 
party. He may have led the way 
in his peculiar views about riieum 
and tuum^ but surely he wrongs 
the Eepublicans in saying they 
were slow in adopting his ideas 
and imitating his practice. The 
great warrior says nothing about 
his persistent, persevering vote for 




Jeff. Davis as President of the 
United States. He was in ad- 
vance of his party in that vote. — 
As he thinks that it is a mere 
question of time as to the ultimate 
carrying out of all his schemes, 
does he expect the Radicals some 
day to press the claims of Mr. 
Davis for the Presidency ? 

We copy from the Memphis 
Ajjjjeal, a flat contradiction of the 
cock and bull story of Hon. 
Simon Cameron, of Pennsylvania. 
We are glad for the sake of the 
great fame of the illustrious hero, 
that the falsehood has been ex- 
posed. Our able contemporary 
has done right in thus vindicating 
the truth of histor3% General 
Lee and Hon. Simon Cameron are 
not so well known abroad as they 
are at home; and probably, an 
uncontradicted slander might be 
believed in the next generation. 
The source, from which the story 
came, would render it very doubt- 
ful in the minds of all men living 
in this year of grace, 1868; the 
personage, to whom the story re- 
fers, makes it not merely im- 
probable, but impossible. The 
Appeal says: 

A Pkoud Name. — A writer in 
one of the leading British Re- 
views, during the progress of the 
war, said the truth of history de- 
pended upon the dispatches of 
Gen. Robert E. Lee. As much 
as to say, he did not prevaricate, 
he did not extenuate, he alone, 
was free from exaggeration and 
misrepresentation. One of our 
exchanges says, in reference to a 
slander perpetrated by the no- 
toriously corrupt Cameron, of 

General Lee.— A correspon- 
dent of the Louisville Courier, 
writing from Lexington, Va,, has 
thought it worth while to deny 
the slanderous statement of Cam- 
eron of the particulars connected 
with the tender of the United 
States army to Gen. Lee, when the 
war upon the Southern States was 
about to be begun. After reason- 
ing upon the inherent and in- 
ferential improbability of Cam- 
eron's story, the writer says, in 
italics, " General Lee says the 
charge is untrue." The denial 
was altogether unnecessary. — 
There is something about General 
Lee that repels the thought of 
dishonor, that forty thousand 
Camerons could not fasten the 
slightest suspicion on him. 

What more conclusive evidence 
is wanted of Cameron's falsehood 
than the simple denial of Robert 
E. Lee? There is a moral gran- 
deur in the thought. 

When Sumter was fired upon, a 
howl of indignation went up from 
the loyal North, " the old flag 
had been insulted, rebels must be 
put down, the Union must, and 
shall be preserved." The fiercest 
and loudest among the Union 
shriekers were the men, who had 
been striving, for a quarter of a 
century, to break it up, and who 
had, during all that period, de- 
nounced the Constitution as "a 
covenant with death and a league 
with hell." Inflamed by the 
fiery calls to arms from these new 
converts to Unionism, millions of 
men sprang forth to crush the re- 
bellion. The old enemies of the 
Union, now become eloquent 
patriots, and stern advocates of 
war, did not themselves take the 
field, they were needed at home 
" to fire the heart of the nation," 
and their precious lives might be 




taken by ruthless and indiscrimi- 
nating rebels. So they hired sub- 
stitutes, took the non-taxable 
bonds of the government, made 
contracts, delivered bellicose ora- 
tions and — shunned the nefarious 

Well, the insult to the old flag 
was avenged in the best blood of 
the South, and in the ruin and 
degradation of a once happy peo- 
ple. "When this great and glori- 
ous object had been accomplished, 
a Sergeant of the Federal army, 
who had been fighting for the 
Union, while ' these men were 
making contracts and speeches, 
travels alone, and unarmed, all 
over the rebel South, with the 
old flag fljing over his head. He 
is received every where kindly, 
cordially, enthusiastically, till he 
gets to the Capitol of the nation, 
and comes into the very presence 
of the men, who shouted so 
fiercely in '61 about " the insult 
to the old flag." Here, for the 
first time is he snubbed, and his 
flag, the national flag — treated 
with contempt! 

How conclusively does this 
prove the hypocrisy of these 
Jacobins, when they talked about 
the insult to the old flag, in 1861. 
'Twas hatred of the South and 
not love of the Union, which 
made them champions of the old 
flag. Now as then, hatred of the 
South is the controlling motive in 
all that they do. This it is, 
which prompts them to impose 
upon us their wicked schemes for 
our degradation. 

Believing that the whole Abo- 
lition movement had its root in 
hatred of God's Word, and con- 
tempt of its teachings, we have 

never doubted that He would, in 
His own good time, vindicate His 
authority before the Universe. 
The vindication has come sooner 
than we expected. It has come in 
the demonstration before the 
world of the uttei' falsehood of all 
the pretexts set up by the Jaco- 
bins for drenching the land in 
blood. 'No one in his senses can 
be made to believe that the men, 
who have been cursing the old 
flag for twenty years, could, in a 
single day, undergo so total a 
change as to regard it with re- 
ligious veneration, ornament pul- 
pits with its graceful folds, put 
pictures of it in bibles, and an- 
thems in its praise in prayer 
books and hymn books. While 
the old flag madness pervaded all 
classes, this glaring inconsistency 
was not commented upon, per- 
haps not noticed even. But now, 
men can look around more calmly 
and reason more dispassionately; 
when, therefore, they see the old 
traitors manifest their contempt 
for the national colors, they re- 
member that hatred of the Con- 
stitution and the Government of 
our Fathers dates back with this 
class, for full a quarter of a cen- 

The emptiness of the other pre- 
text for the war — sympathy with 
the oppressed negro— has also 
been satisfactorily demonstrated. 
The States, which furnished most 
of the volunteers for the war, 
have put a social and political 
ban upon the poor African. The 
few of the afllicted race in their 
borders are denied those privi- 
leges, which the South is required 
to extend to millions of these un- 
fortunates. It is easy to pity the 




poor negro in the rebel South ; it 
is hard to sympathize with him in 
the loyal North. It is so easy to 
mourn over other people's sins, it 
is so hard to repent of our own! 

"VVe were disposed to regard the 
journey of Sergeant Bates as one 
of those numerous sensationals, 
which the loyal North has a pas- 
sion for, such as trundling a 
wheel-barrow from Bangor to 
Boston, walking so many miles in 
so many hours, a prize fight be- 
tween McCoole and the English 
bully, freezing all night around a 
ticket office to get the first chance 
to hear Mr. Dickens, getting di- 
vorces, running after Japanese 
Tommy, admiring Barnum, ador- 
ing Beecher, deifying John Brown, 
&c.,&c., &c. But we now look 
at the Sergeant's movement from 
a difierent stand-point. It will do 
good, it has already done good. 
AYe were fast drifting towards 
Gen. Grant and the stahle Gov- 
ernment. The unveiling of the 
Jacobins must have a happy ef- 
fect. Nothing, too, is so well cal- 
culated to revive love for the old 
flag in the South as the knowledge 
that it is bitterly hated by the old 
traitors, Stevens, Phillips & Co. 

SouTHERK Fertilizers. — A 
prejudice has arisen in the minds 
of many against artificial man- 
ures, because of the ignorant and 
unscientific manner in which they 
have been used. In some instan- 
ces, too, the results have been un- 
favorable through the unpro- 
pitiousness of the seasons. But 
no intelligent man will doubt that 
the true policy of the Southern 
farmer is to cultivate less land, 
^nd have the less quantity better 

prepared and better manured. — 
The English farmers are the most 
successful in the world, chiefly be- 
cause they pay so much attention 
to manures. A like attention on 
our part will make the waste fields 
of the South blossom like the rose. 

Enterprising men at the South 
are proving true benefactors to 
their unfortunate section by pro- 
viding real, bona fide manures, 
which are not shams, but possess 
substantial value for the purchas- 
er, as well as the seller. The 
Editor has visited in person the 
manufactories of G. Ober, Esq., 
of Baltimore, and of Wm. C. 
Dukes, of Charleston, S. C, and 
saw enough to satisfy him that 
they conducted their establish- 
ments upon fair and honorable 
principles. The manures of Mr. 
Ober have been most successfully 
used in this county, (Mecklen- 
burg) and very largely at many 
points in Georgia, particularly in 
that fine agricultural section, 
Hancock county. 

Mr. Dukes has the largest es- 
tablishment in the South, and is 
putting up a splendid article. 

Our old friends, Willis & 
Chisolm, of Charleston, S. C, are 
importing the celebrated Rodunda 
guano, one of the very best fer- 
tilizers known. The interests of 
the farmer will be regarded by 
them, and only a valuable article 
will be furnished. 

The Southern Eertilizing Com- 
pany, of Richmond, Yirginia, is 
well and favorably known. Col. 
Wm. Gilham, late State Geolo- 
gist of Virginia, is connected with 
it, and there is no abler chemist 
in this country. 

The Pacific Guano Company, 


Book Notices. 


and the Patapsco Guano Com- 
pany, of Baltimore, have both a 
well merited reputation. 

Those who wish The Land 
We Love, must remit funds by- 
Express, Check, Post-office order 
or registered letter. We are only 
responsible for losses when money 

is sent in one of these four ways. 
Persons, however, who wish to 
give contributions to the loyal 
Postmasters, may enclose green- 
backs to our office and have not 
the slightest apprehension that 
the loyal Postmasters aforesaid 
will not receive their contribu- 


The Centurions of the Gos- 
pel. By Kev. W. A. Scott, 
D. D. New York: Anson D. 
F. Eandolph, 1868. 
We have read this book with 
great interest. The Publishers 
have done full justice to the learn- 
ing and piety of the distinguished 

Our Saviour found no such 
faith any where, as he found in 
the Centurion of Capernaum. 
The Centurion of Cesarea was the 
first one of the Gentile world, to 
whom the Gospel was preached. 
With these two great facts as the 
basis of his argument, Dr. Scott 
contends that the profession of 
arms is not inconsistent with the 
Christian life and conversation. 

We could go farther than this, 
and show that the self-sacrifice 
necessarily required of the sol- 
dier, is favorable to the develop- 
ment of religious sentiment. Sin 
is nothing more nor less than an 
expression of selfishness. "Deny 
thyself and take up the Cross," is 
the cardinal doctrine of Christi- 

anity. Every victory over self is 
a victory over sin. As no i^ro- 
fession demands such a complete 
abnegation of self as does the 
military, there is none that is so 
favorable to religion, so far as 
that one element is concerned. 
On the other hand, there is much 
about the army, well calculated 
to turn men into brutes, especial- 
ly if the commander is himself a 
brute. The "March to the Sea " 
must have had a fearful influence 
upon all connected with it. 

Dr. Scott's style is as clear as 
crystal. You are never at a loss 
for his meaning. Kow when the 
whole world seems to have run 
mad after some novelty, Beecher- 
charlatanry or Cheever-ranting, 
it is perfectly delightful to find the 
old Gospel-truths presented in in- 
telligible language. 

In striking contrast with the 
simplicity of Dr. Scott's style, is 
the mystic bombast of many re- 
cent publications. We have a 
book before us, which has, as the 
heading of a chapter of mysteri- 


Book Notices. 


ous and extravagant verbiage, 
"The soul a Prayer, whose answer 
is Grod." The writer, in order to 
say something new and striking, 
is impudently profane. Another 
chapter is headed, "Hints re- 
specting a nebulous region in the 
soul." We have never seen any 
satisfactory distinction between 
the mind and the soul. But we 
feel sure that there is, at least, a 
nebulous region in one mind — 
that of the novelty- seeking writer. 
Beecher, in hunting up a new 
sensation, never stumbled upon 
any thing more absurd. 

The Eock of Salvatiok. By 
W. S. Plumer, D. D. Ameri- 
can Tract Society. 
Dr. Plumer is a living refuta- 
tion of the reflection upon South- 
ern indolence. He has given 
many books to the world, not 
crude, ill-digested, hastily pre- 
pared productions; but books of 
solid merit, full of mature 
thought, and above all, glowing 
with a genial, warm-hearted 
piety. He teaches, too, the old 
and glorious truths of the Gospel, 
unmixed with new-fangled theo- 
ries and wild extravagancies. — 
The aim of the writer is to win 
souls to Christ, and not to show 
his own learning and originality 
of mind. Profound reverence for 
the great Jehovah pervades his 
pages, and we find none of that 
prying, impudent familiarity with 
holy things, which makes us 
loathe a certain class of writers, 
while we shudder at their blas- 

When we reflect upon the pro- 
digious labors of Alexander, 
Thornwell, Baker, Elliott, Pearce, 

Plumer, Gilmore Simms, Smythe 
and hundreds of others, we have 
reason to believe that Southern 
men can do as much work as any 
other class. With a sterner ne- 
cessity now imposed upon them, 
for more active exertion, we may 
hope to see richer and more abun- 
dant fruits crown their toil. 

Pour Oaks. By Kamba Thorpe, 
IsTew York. Geo. W. Carle- 
ton & Co. 

This is a very entertaining and 
instructive novel, by a gifted 
daughter of Alabama, one of the 
most talented in our grievously 
oppressed section. The style is 
good, the sentiments pure and el- 
evated, the moral of the story 
healthy, and the incidents simple 
and natural. The lovers of fic- 
tion can scarcely wish for a more 
attractive volume. 

The Southern Boys' and 
Girls' Monthly is a charming 
periodical — all that can be desired 
for our children. It is really won- 
derful that a monthly, with 40 
pages of reading matter and four 
or five wood-cuts in each number, 
can be issued for 31-50 per an- 
num. It is regarded as a rich 
treat in every household it enters, 
and parents can put it with safety 
in the hands of their children, 
feeling assured that while it con- 
tains much to instruct, there is 
nothing to corrupt the taste or in- 
jure the morals. In these degen- 
erate times of leastly pictorials 
and wicked sensational stories, of 
how little can it be said that this 
is safe reading. Address Baird & 
Brother, Kichmond, Ya. 


Book Notices. 

[June, 1868. '\ 

The Little Gleaner, pub- 
lished at Fredericksburg, Va., is 
a very attractive monthly, for 
children, containing 16 pages, 
neatly printed on clean white 
paper. Every effort to build up a 
pure, native literature that can 
be put, with safety, in the hands 
of children, deserves the appro- 
bation and encouragement of all 
good people. The wisest of men 
has said, "train up a child in 
the way he should go, and when 
he is old, he will not depart from 
it." Many parents, who have the 
welfare of their children at heart, 
are wholly regardless of what 
they read. The child, who would 
be guarded against mixing in 
vicious company, is allowed to 
read immoral tales and obscene 
anecdotes. The foolish parent 
forgets that temptation much 
more frequently comes through 
the eye than through the ear. 
The warning of the Saviour was, 
" if thine eye (not thine ear) of- 
fend thee, pluck it out." It is 
the very height of folly to forbid 

bad company and permit bad 
reading. The most powerful 
agents of Satan are bad books 
and bad periodicals. Mighty for 
good and for evil is the Press. 
Let parents keep a wise supervis- 
ion over what their children read, 
as well as over the associations 
they form. The Little Gleaner is 
safe reading, and its low price, %\ 
per annum, puts it within the 
reach of all. 

Minding The Gap and other 

Poems. ByMoLLiEE. Moore. 

Gushing & Gate, Houston, 


This little collection of Poems 
is like a beautiful bouquet, gather- 
ed under a tropical sky. Each 
one is a genuine, perfumed, rain- 
nursed, dew-kissed blossom. — 
Mollie Moore takes her place as a 
Southern poetess, in the hearts of 
the refined, intellectual, and pure. 
"VVe give, below, just a stanza or 
two, as a specimen of her " fsery 
work." The first of her " Mes 
Amis " commences thus. 

" Now surely he upon a Sabbath-day 

Was born, with " God bless all men!" on his tongue; 
For all his looks are blessmgs, and his " nay " 

Cheers more than " yea " from cold abundance flung. 

Her exquisite appreciation of Nature is seen in the following: 

" Tall, odorous grass and rustling reed 

Waved idly by a broad lagoon ; 
And there the hunter reined his steed: 

The shadows of a broad mid-noon 
Were short and round beneath the trees, 

Whose beard-like moss hung calm and still, 
As sails of ships upon the seas 

Where winds are charmed by evil will." 


Ko. III. 

JULY, 1868. 

Vol. V. 


A feAV months after the capture 
of Gen. Lee's army, in 1865, a 
writer, in the editorial columns of 
a widely circulating New York 
journal, asserted that the achieve- 
ments of Gen. Grant surpassed 
those of Alexander, Hannibal, 
Julius Csesar, Gustavus Adol- 
phus, Marshal Turenne, Prince 
Eugene of Savoy, Marlborough, 
Trederick the Great, Napoleon, 
and the Duke of Wellington, all 
combined! The journal in ques- 
tion is so much addicted to quiz- 
zing, that we felt at a loss to de- 
termine whether this stupendous 
panegyric was uttered in good 
faith, or whether it was merely an 
echo of the popular exultation, 
which at that moment very near- 
ly approached the borders of 
frenzy. Napoleon, in his review 
of Jomini's "Art of War," tells 
us that a great soldier cannot be 
made by books of that sort — that 
the " art" is best taught in the 
field — that the best substitute for 
VOL. v. NO. iir. 

the field is the careful study of 
eighty-four campaigns Avhich he 
mentions, viz: the eight of Alex- 
ander, seventeen of Hannibal, 
and thirteen of Csesar, in ancient 
times; the three of Gustavus, 
sixteen of Turenne, nineteen of 
Eugene, and eleven of Frederick, 
in modern times. He did not, of 
course, include his own and those 
of Wellington. The panegyrist 
of Gen. Grant, however, includes 
them in his summary. In order 
that the reader may see the enor- 
mous character of this eulogy, we 
propose to glance at the career of 
each of these great captains, be- 
fore sketching a brief outline of 
Gen, Grant's. 

Alexander the Great, with a 
force 34,500 strong, invaded the 
Persian empire, the mightiest, at 
that time, upon which the sun 
had ever shone, extending from 
the shores of the Hellespont to 
the banks of the Indus, from 
Memphis on the Nile, to the 



Coraxjarative GeneraJshij). 


great mountains of Korthern Asia, 
embracing all those vast king- 
doms which played parts so mem- 
orable in the early history of man- 
kind, as we find it recorded in the 
Bible, peopled by innumerable 
nations, able, at any time, to 
send a million of men into the 
field, divided into many provinces, 
each governed by a satrap equal 
in power and wealth to the great- 
est king. In three campaigns, 
and in three great pitched battles, 
and Uxo memorable sieges, he 
struck down the poAver of this 
vast monarchy, and assumed the 
crown of Asia. In five other 
campaigns, and in innumerable 
battles, he subdued those wild 
and warlike tribes around him, 
which the whole power of the 
Persian monarchs had never been 
able to subjugate, and but for the 
refusal of his troops to follow him 
farther, would undoubtedly have 
anticipated Clive and his success- 
ors by two thousand years, in 
making India a province of an 
European power. 

Hannibal, with an army of 
26,000 men, arrived on the Ital- 
ian side of the Alps, wuth the 
avowed purpose of overthrowing 
the Republic of Rome, the most 
powerful government, at that 
time, existing in the world. Not 
only his numbers, but his arms, 
and the quality of his troops were 
vastly inferior to those of his ene- 
my. The latter were collected 
from all quarters; twenty differ- 
ent languages were spoken in his 
camp, while the Romans were 
homogeneous. After the battle 
of Thrasymene, he made his 
troops arm themselves with the 
weapons of the dead Romans. — 

In eighteen months, and in three 
pitched battles, remembered to 
this day for the skill with which 
they were planned, and the vigor 
with which they were executed, 
he not only defeated, but abso- 
lutely and literally destroyed, five 
Roman consular armies, and 
shook the Roman power to its 
very foundation. Exhausted by 
his very victories, denied all re- 
enforcements from home, shut up 
in the foot of the Italian boot, 
with no allies but the fierce and 
intractable Breethans, his num- 
bers weaning every day, for four- 
teen years he defied the whole 
power of Rome to drive him out 
of Italy. Never, in his most tri- 
umphant days, did his genius 
shine so brightly as it did in this 
gloomy season. He left Italy at 
last, only in consequence of orders 
from home. 

Julius Ceesar, w^hen he took 
possession of his government of 
Gaul, found himself at the head 
of six legions, about 24,000 men, 
which he recruited to about 60,000 
before commencing operations. — 
In the course of nine years he 
was victorious in between forty 
and fifty pitched battles, carried 
by storm or took by siege eighty 
fortified places, subdued 300 na- 
tions or tribes, forming an aggre- 
gate of 20,000,000 of souls, fought 
in pitched battles or sieges 3,000- 
000 of men, took 1,000,000 of pris- 
oners, and slew as many fairly in 
the field. Besides this, he made 
several expeditions into Germany, 
and twice crossed over to Britain, 
where he fought two battles. In 
the civil war, in a single pitched 
battle, he destroyed the power of 
Pompey, in another totally sub- 


Comparative Generalship. 


■dued the revolted Egyptians, in a 
third routed Pharnaces, on which 
occasion he wrote "reni, vidi^ 
rici," and thus made himself 
master of the Eastern world. In 
a fourth he struck down the pow- 
er of Pompey's followers in Africa, 
and in a fifth put the finishing 
stroke to his works by destroying 
the army of Pompey's sons in 
Spain. He certainly is a very 
wonderful military man. Who 
can be called superior to Julius 

Gustavus Adolphus made his 
first campaign in Poland, where, 
after defeating the King in several 
battles he compelled him to make 
peace. The Emperor of Germany 
was at that time waging the cruel 
and unjust war, known as the 
" Thirty Years' War," with his 
Protestant subjects. His pro- 
gress, through the skill of his 
generals, Tilly and Wallenstein, 
had given alarm to all Europe, 
Catholic as well as Protestant. — 
Gustavus espoused the cause of 
his Protestant brethren. He land- 
ed in Pomerania, and made him- 
self master of that province, after 
having defeated the forces of the 
Emperor in a bloody battle, and 
stormed all the strong places in it. 
He then proceeded south carrying 
all the fortresses, for which Ger- 
many is so famous, as fast as he 
came to them. Tilly was sent 
to arrest him. He attacked him 
and received a bloody repulse. — 
Gustavus followed up the blow, 
and attacking Tilly at Leipsic, a 
great battle ensued, in which 
Tilly lost half of his army. Gusta- 
vus marched on, crossed the 
Danube, invaded Bavaria, carried 
every fortress before him in spite 

of Tilly, and when that oflicer at- 
tempted to stop him at the pas- 
sage of the Lech he almost anni- 
hilated his army, and Tilly him- 
self was killed. He had gone as 
far on his conquering progress to- 
wards the Ehine as Ulm, when 
he was recalled to Saxony to face 
Wallenstein. He came in con- 
tact with him at Lutzen. After 
a bloody battle, in which he gain- 
ed a signal victory, he was, un- 
fortunately, killed. One month 
more and he would have been in 

Eugene first commanded in 
chief in the campaign of 1697 
against the Turks, which he ren- 
dered memorable by defeating 
Mustaphe II., in the battle of 
Zenta, killing, wounding, or tak- 
ing 20,000 men, and all his artil- 
lery, baggage, &c. This ended 
the war. In the " War of the 
Succession," he was sent to Italy, 
where he completely defeated 
Catinat, and afterwards Villeroi, 
taking the latter prisoner at Cre- 
mona. Called to Germany in 
1704, he united his army with 
that of Marlborough, and the two 
gained the overwhelming battle 
of Blenheim. Returning to Italy, 
although he was at first foiled by 
Vendome, yet he carried Turin 
by storm, and virtually put an 
end to the French power there. 
He then penetrated into France, 
and laid siege to Toulon, but was 
not successful. Withdrawn from 
Italy, he was sent to Flanders, to 
command the Austrian forces 
acting in concert with Marlbor- 
ough. He participated in the 
two great battles of Oudenarde 
and Malplaquet, in 1708 and 1709. 
In the war with the Turks, be 


Comparative Generalship. 


fought the battle of Peterwardein, 
with greatly inferior force, routed 
the Turks with great slaughter, 
and captured Belgrade; which 
exploit led to peace. He was at 
the head of the army of 1733 with 
Poland, but no battle was fought. 
He commanded in eighteen pitch- 
ed battles and gained them all. 

Marlborough was one of the 
most fortunate generals that ever 
lived. It was said of him, that 
he never drew his sword that he 
did not conquer. We know of no 
other general of whom the same 
can be said with truth. In 1704, 
when the French marched an 
overwhelming army into Bavaria, 
and united with the Bavarian 
forces, were about to push on to 
Vienna, he made a sudden and 
rapid march from Flanders, uni- 
ted his forces to those of Eugene, 
and gained the tremendous vic- 
tory of Blenheim, in which the 
French' lost 40,000 men out of 
60,000. The way was open to 
Paris, and Marlborough and Eu- 
gene wished to take it, but the 
Dutch deputies refused their con- 
sent. Besides this battle, Marl- 
borough also gained the great 
victories of Kamillies, Oudenarde 
and Malplaquet, and took all the 
fortified towns of Flanders, be- 
sides several in the North of 
France. When Marlborough first 
landed in Flanders, Louis XIY. 
was the most powerful monarch 
that had reigned in Europe 
since Charlemagne. Marlborough 
brought him almost to the dust. 
Another campaign and he would 
have been suing for peace on any 
terms, when a faction at home over- 
threw the great general and caus- 
ed him to lose his command. 

When the Seven Years' War 
commenced, Russia, Sweden, 
Austria, France, Saxony, and 
Poland, with standing armies, 
numbering 600,000 men, were 
united against Prussia, which had 
only 160,000. The combined 
population of these countries was 
100,000,000. The population of 
Prussia, 5,000,000. England, 
however, was with Prussia, and 
sent an army to Hanover, which, 
with her German subjects and 
allies, it was thought would pro- 
tect Prussia on the south. The 
allies lay at great distances from 
each other. Frederic lay in the 
centre, and had a chance to strike 
them in detail. He commenced 
the war by overrunning Saxony, 
seizing Dresden, besieging the 
Saxon army, 17,000 strong, in the 
camp of Pirna, leaving a suffi- 
cient force to blockade the camp, 
marching into Bohemia, and 
totally defeating Marshal Brown, 
who was approaching to raise the 
siege, at Lowositz. In the spring 
of 1757, he attacked Brown be- 
fore Prague, waiting for Daun to 
join him before advancing into 
Saxony, and defeated him with a 
loss of 24,000 men, he, himself, 
losing 18,000. Part of the de- 
feated force shut themselves up in 
Prague, part fled to Daun. — 
Frederic left a part of his force to 
blockade Prague, and with the 
rest, on the 18th June, the same 
day with the battle of Waterloo, 
fifty-eight years after, attacked 
Daun and Brown, at Kolin, and 
was terribly defeated. But as 
Daun made no use of his victory, 
he was soon in the field again. 
In the meantime the Duke of 
Cumberland capitulated to the 


Comparative GeneralsMp. 


French army, which being now 
at liberty, marched to invade the 
south of Prussia. Silesia was in 
possession of a powerful Austrian 
army, and the Kussians were in 
the Korthern provinces. Placed 
in a central position, Frederic 
was enabled to strike right and 
left. He marched with great 
rapidity on the French, and 
gained a glorious victory over 
them, at Eossbach, on the 5th 
Kovember, came back on the 
Austrians, and in a battle, 
(fought 5th December,) which 
Napoleon calls a master- piece, 
(Leuthen) defeated them utterly, 
killing, wounding, and taking 
27,000 out of 60,000, and in the 
spring inflicted a terrible defeat 
on the Eussians, at Zorndorf. — 
But on the 14th October, 1758— 
the same on which Napoleon 
prostrated the power of Prussia, 
fifty-eight years afterwards — he 
was surprised in his camp, and 
defeated by Daun and Laudohn, 
at Hochkirchen, losing 13,000 
men. In 1769, the Austrians 
being in possession of Saxony, 
and the Eussians of the country 
bordering the Oder, the two 
united, and Frederic attacking 
them at Kunersdorf, where they 
were strongly intrenched, suffered 
a terrible defeat; the worst he had 
ever sustained. Out of 50,000 
men, he could rally that evening 
but 3,000. But the allies grew 
jealous of each other and did not 
improve their victory. The next 
day he had rallied 18,000 men, 
and in a few weeks had an army 
30,000 strong. At the commence- 
ment of 1760, the enemy were in 
possession of Berlin, but Frederic 
gained a great victory over Lau- 

dohn at Liegnitz, and another 
great victory over Daun at Tor- 
gau, which restored things to 
their old condition. In 1761 
there was no battle. The Em- 
press of Eussia died, and her suc- 
cessor immediately made peace, 
clothed all the Prussian prisoners 
in new suits, and sent them back 
to Frederic, entering at the same 
time into an alliance with him. 
England and France made peace 
soon after. Austria left by her- 
self was not long in following the 
example. Frederic relinquished 
nothing whatever. The united 
exertions of this mighty alliance 
had been unable to wring any 
thing from him. 

The career of Napoleon is so 
well known that we shall make 
our summary as brief as possible. 
In his first two campaigns, 1796 
and 1797, in Italy, in the course 
of ten months he was victorious 
in fourteen pitched battles, and 
seventy combats, destroyed five 
Austrian armies, took 100,000 
prisoners, and killed and wounded 
as many more, captured six hun- 
dred field pieces and two thou- 
sand heavy guns, drove the Aus- 
trians entirely out of Italy, and 
forced a peace in sight of the 
steeples of Vienna. All this he 
effected with an army of less than 
thirty thousand men, — the reen- 
forcements he received never cov- 
ering his losses. In the campaigns 
of '98- ■'99 he carried the French 
arms to the ancient Scripture lands 
of Egypt and Syria, and won bat- 
tles on spots renowned in the 
earliest history of mankind, at 
Alexandria, the Pyramids, Mount 
Tabor, Jafta, (Joppa, the port of 
Jerusalem.) and was obliged to 


Comparative Generalship. 


raise the siege he had laid to 
Acre, already immortalized in the 
history of the crusaders. Ee- 
turning to Egypt, he drove a 
whole Turkish army into the sea 
at Aboukir, returned to France, 
seized the government, and had 
himself proclaimed first consul. — 
All his conquests, except Genoa, 
had been lost, and the Austrians 
were besieging that, when, in 
1800, he crossed the Alps, took 
possession of Lombardy and Pied- 
mont in their rear, cut off their 
communications and forced them 
to fight the battle of Marengo, by 
which he recovered all the French 
had lost, in one month from the 
time he left Paris. In 1805, he de- 
stroyed the Austrian Grand Army 
at XJlm before it could unite with 
the advancing Russians, and at 
Austerlitz destroyed the Eussian 
army likewise. In 1806, he de- 
stroyed the Prussian army at 
Jena before the Russians could 
join, and pursuing it from one 
end of Prussia to the other, in a 
fortnight captured all the fortress- 
es aud 140,000 prisoners. In 1807 
he fought the great battle of 
Eylau, and repulsed the Russians 
with great slaughter, and of 
Priedland, in which the Eussian 
army was almost annihilated. In 
1808, he swept over Spain like a 
whirlwind. In 1809, in four great 
battles, fought in four consecu- 
tive days, he defeated the Arch- 
duke Charles of Austria, and 
drove him over the Danube, leav- 
ing the way open to Vienna. He 
took that city after a slight can- 
nonade, crossed the Danube and 
fought the bloody and indecisive 
battle of Essling or Aspern, re- 
tired to the Isle of Lobau, recross- 

ed and utterly defeated Charles 
at Wagram. In 1812 he fought 
the terrible battle of Bor- 
odino, seventy miles from Mos- 
cow, in which the Eussians 
lost 52,000. The fire at Moscow, 
and the frost and snow, destroyed 
his great army,and all Europe rose 
against him. In the campaign 
of 1813, his struggles were gigan- 
tic. He fought and gained four 
of the greatest battles recorded in 
history; Lutzen, Bautzen, Wur- 
chen, and Dresden. But the 
numbers of his enemies constantly 
increased, until at last, at Leip- 
sic, they overwhelmed him. In 
the campaign of 1814, in France, 
with 40,000 men, he opposed for 
weeks a force of 300,000, formed 
into five armies, which he (mov- 
ing on the chord of an arc while- 
they moved on the circumference) 
kept asunder, with infinite skill, 
fighting a battle every day. He 
would have succeeded at last, had 
not Marmont treacherously given 
up the city of Paris to the invaders. 
In 1815, at the head of 122,000 men, 
he marched into Belgium against 
Wellington and Blucher, whose 
armies, amounting in the aggre- 
gate to 220,000, were quartered 
separately. He thrust himself 
between them, beat Blucher, sent 
Grouchy in pursuit of him, order- 
ing him to keep between Blucher 
and the main army. He then 
pursued Wellington, attacked him 
at Waterloo, and was on the point j 
of beating him, when first Bulow J 
and then Blucher came up. 

Wellington landed in Portugal 
in 1807 with about 30,000 troops. 
The troops of Junot were dis- 
persed all about the neighborhood 
of Lisbon. He had about 21,000 


Comparative Generalship. 


in all, but could assemble only 
9,000. "With these he attacked 
Wellington at Vimeira, and was, 
of course, beaten. His whole 
army capitulated a few days after, 
and the English had undisputed 
posession of Portugal. In 1809, 
"Wellington, by a sudden march 
from Lisbon on Oporto, forced 
Soult to retreat. He next march- 
ed upon Madrid, and fought the 
bloody battle of Talavera, with 
doubtful result, it seems to us, 
since he did not obtain his object, 
and was forced to retreat back to 
Lisbon. In 1810, Massena inva- 
ded Portugal with 80,000 men.— 
"Wellington had the better in the 
battle of Busaco. He retired to 
the lines of Torres-"Vedras. Mas- 
sena, unable to force them, lay 
before them until he lost half his 
army. He then retreated, and 
"Wellington following, the battle 
of Puentes d'Onore was fought, 
the English claiming the advan- 
tage. In 1811, Wellington took 
Ciudad Eodrigo by storm. In 
1812, he stormed Badajoz — Kapo- 
leon having called a great part of 
his forces from Spain, Wellington 
took this opportunity to march 
into it. He attacked Marmont 
at Salamanca and completely de- 
feated him, but was compelled 
afterwards to fall back on Portu- 
gal. In 1813, Napoleon, in con- 
sequence of his losses in Kussia, 
was compelled to abandon Spain. 
The army under King Joseph 
was retiring in perfect disorder, 
laden with plunder, and every way 
demoralized. When Wellington 
attacked them (1813) they scarcely 
made a show of fight, but ran 
and endeavored to save their 
treasure. This shameful affair is 

called the battle of Yittoria, 
though in truth it was no battle 
at all. In 1814, Wellington en- 
tered the south of France, and 
fought several battles with Soult, 
at Bayonne, Orthes and Toulouse. 
In 1815, he commanded in the 
battle of Waterloo, which, we 
suppose, is what chiefly gave him 
his reputation. 

Let us now take a brief glance 
at the campaigns of Gen. Grant. 
At the very outset we observe a 
remarkable contrast between the 
circumstances under which all 
his operations were conducted, 
and those under which the gene- 
rals to whom he is preferred, con- 
ducted theirs. They, in nearly 
every instance, took the field with 
inferior numbers ; he never moved 
without an enormous numerical 
superiority. They generally 
fought against men whose re- 
sources of every kind were at 
least equal to their own ; he never 
once encountered an enemy who 
was not greatly his inferior, not 
only in numbers, but in arms, 
stores, provisions, clothing, medi- 
cal appliances ; every thing except 
skill and valor. That he was 
right to make all he could out of 
this species of superiority, is cer- 
tainly true. He fought for an 
object, and it was his duty to ob- 
tain that object. But the fact 
detracts very considerably from 
his praise as a commander. Na- 
poleon says, that the greatest 
general is he, who, with the 
smallest number of men in the 
field, can bring the greatest num- 
ber to bear on a given point. This 
definition is perfect, and so pal- 
pable that the unskilled can see 
its correctness as well as Hanni- 


Comparative Generalship. 


bal could. But where a general 
operates with three or four to one, 
he deserves no credit for bringing 
a superior force to bear on one 
given point. Kapoleon's defini- 
tion is true, where the parties are 
equal, or where the manceuvering 
party is slightly superior. At 
Eckmuhl, for instance, the 
armies were equal — 90,000 each. 
Napoleon contrived, by his su- 
perior skill, to throw 80,000 men 
in full weight, upon 40,000 of the 
enemy, while with 10,000 he kept 
50,000 at long taw; and this, he 
said, at St. Helena, was the most 
skillful manoeuvre he ever execu- 
ted. Had the French army been 
greatly superior — had it been, for 
instance, 130,000, he would have 
deserved no high degree of credit. 
He might have thrown the 80,000 
upon the 40,000 on the important 
point, and he could still have held 
■the other 50,000 at bay with a 

power equal to their own. In- 
stances of this kind abound in 
his history. General Grant's 
numbers were always so enor- 
mously superior, that he could 
throw half his army at any time, 
upon one point, and still have a 
force of two to one to oppose the 
rest of his enemy's army. For 
example. He had, at the Wilder- 
ness, 160,000 men; Lee had 47,- 
000 all told. Suppose Lee to have 
held a vital position with 30,000 
of these men ; a position which if 
carried must insure the destruc- 
tion of his army. Grant could 
throw 120,000 men upon it and still 
retain 40,000 to make head against 
the rest of Lee's army, amounting 
to but 17,000. Victories gained 
in this manner, by overwhelming 
odds, are quite as useful as any 
other victories, but they are hard- 
ly so creditable to the victorious 

1868.] The Rhine. 201 


{From the German of F. A. Krummacher.) 


"When grand St. Gothard stood complete 

And Kature's noble work was done, 
She smiled upon its heart of ice 

And to the mountain gave a son. 
*' 'Tis meet that goodness should proceed 

From greatness such as thine, 
Thy garnered strength have wider scope, 

Thy gathered waters form the Khine. 
Go forth," she said, " oh noble youth, 

Well worthy of thy lineage grand, 
And roll thy Heaven-born waters from 

The hollow of thy Father's hand." 
The stream obeyed and tore his way 

Through rocks and crags with wanton force, 
Parted the waves of Bodenlake 

And boldly held his onward course. 
Now smiling vineyards mark his path, 

The turbid race of youth is run. 
And bright luxuriant beauty crowns 

The manhood of St. Gothard's son. 
A hundred streams rich tribute yield. 

He lays his vine-leaf wreath aside, 
Bears noble ships upon his breast 

And calmly rolls through cornflelds wide. 
By many a branch he seeks the sea, 

But wheresoever his waters pour 
Men honored him as " father Ehine," 

Whom Nature to St. Gothard bore. 


The Decay of Beligion in the South. 



Much as we may regret the 
political and household ruin of a 
"whole people, every Christian 
must deem the decline and cor- 
ruption of religion among them a 
far greater evil. But any one, 
who does not close his eyes to un- 
welcome yet obvious facts, may 
now witness the progress of this 
decay in the Southern States, but 
more especially in those contain- 
ing the bulk of the negro popula- 

We would point out the indi- 
cations, and trace the causes of 
this decay ; but in order to 
measure its progress, we must 
first state what was the religious 
condition of the South up to the 
year 1860. What we have to say 
is most applicable to the more 
southern of these States; but es- 
pecially to those, in which negro 
slavery, having existed for gene- 
rations, approached what may be 
called its normal condition. 

From the first settlement of the 
country, the Christian mission- 
ary had trodden close on the heels 
of the pioneer in the wilderness ; 
and for generations there had 
been few families which did not, 
in some form, profess the Christ- 
ian faith. From the nature of 
the country, farming and pastoral 
pursuits engrossed the cares of 
the bulk of the population, a very 
small portion dwelling in towns. 
A necessary result from this, was, 
that literary education was gene- 
rally superficial, and by no means 
universal. In a sparsely peopled 
country, most households must be 

remote from schools; and the sup- 
port necessary to the maintenance 
of a school, of high order, can be 
found in few neighborhoods. In- 
deed, in many poor and thinly 
settled parts of the country, it 
would be difficult to collect twenty 
scholars from as many square 
miles. It was thus often less 
easy to bring the young within 
the reach of the means of educa- 
tion, than it might be in a Tartar 
horde, or an Arab tribe, which, 
migrating in a body from pasture 
to pasture, still always keeps the 
household composing it, near 
neighbors to each other; and the 
schoolmaster would naturally ac- 
company them in all their mi- 

Yet, however thinly settled 
many parts of the South were, 
few neighborhoods were without 
one or more religious societies. 
A christian church of some kind 
was habitually frequented by the 
bulk of the people, although 
many families had to make al- 
most a journey to worship there. 
From the fewness, and the de- 
fects of other sources of educa- 
tion, a large part of the instruc- 
tion received was of a religious 
character. The Bible was, prac- 
tically, the chief school book, and 
the church the chief school of 
young and old; but this was not 
always under the charge of a 
competent teacher. 

Yet, from causes which we 
need not here trace, it is notori- 
ously true that religious impulses 
and speculations have shown, in 


The Decay of Beligion in the South. 


the South, little of that tendency 
to run into the extravagancies of 
faith, so often and so variously 
manifested in the Northern States, 
in the shape of XJnitarianism, Uni- 
versalism, Quakerism, Shakerism, 
Spiritualism, Mormonism, Free- 
love doctrines, and other aberra- 
tions, from simple heresies in 
dogmatic theology, down to the 
utter perversion of all the princi- 
ples of Christianity. 

More than twenty years before 
1860, there had been a marked 
deepening and widening of the 
current of Christian faith in the 
South, and a corresponding in- 
crease of effort to bring the truths 
and obligations of Christianity 
home to the hearts of all in the 
land. More especially did this 
zeal show itself in a deepening 
sense of the responsibility of pro- 
fessed Christians to labor at the 
religious instruction of the ne- 
groes, a duty which had hitherto 
been much, but not altogether, 
neglected. All branches of the 
Church were moved by this im- 
pulse; the effort of some were 
peculiarly successful ; but we 
might do injustice to others in 
singling out any as having shown 
peculiar zeal. The labors of 
many clergymen, and not a few 
laymen, in this field, have been 
worthy of the high and pure 
motives which prompted them; 
nor will they lose their reward. 

But the Christianizing of any 
people is up-hill work; and the 
difficulties increase with the depth 
of their ignorance, and yet more 
with the intellectual narrowness 
of the race. While Christianity, 
viewed in its merely earthly as- 
pect, is the most powerful agent 

in promoting civilization, there is 
no doubt that civilization opens 
the door for the entrance of 
Christianity. Probably some 
measure of it is essential among 
any people, if not- to the recep- 
tion, at least to the spontaneous 
preservation of the faith. For 
instance: For more than a cen- 
tury the Moravians have main- 
tained missions in Greenland, and 
have made converts of many of 
the natives, who, we are quite 
willing to believe, are devout 
members of their. Church. But, 
should these missions be with- 
drawn, and all intercourse with 
Christendom cut off", does any 
sane man believe that these peo- 
ple, who are but Esquimaux, and, 
from the very nature of their 
country, cannot rise above the 
pursuits and habits which char- 
acterize that race — would they 
preserve, uncorrupted, for gene- 
rations, the learning. Church or- 
ganization, and mutual control, 
essential to the permanent up- 
holding of the sacred truths and 
institutions planted among them? 
We might point out many other 
countries in which the planting of 
a self-sustaining Church would be 
quite as hopeless. It is true that 
most missionaries, laboring among 
the heathen of the more degraded 
types, would have us believe 
otherwise. But, although the 
common saying as to traveller's 
tales is a rare example of a false 
adage, originating far more in the 
narrow ignorance of listeners, 
than the falsehood of travellers, 
yet, it is no where more justly ap- 
plicable than to missionary narra- 
tives. The mere traveller may be 
an unbiased observer, seeking 


The Decay of Beligion in the South. 


only truth, with no prejudged 
conclusions to uphold. But the 
missionary, relying on help from 
on high, readily believes all he 
hopes, and magnifies the conver- 
sion of every doubtful proselyte 
into a manifest widening of the 
Kingdom of Christ. Blinded by 
his zeal, misled by his hopes, he 
deceives others by being self de- 

As one people, from the physi- 
cal conditions under which they 
live, may be cut off from taking 
the first steps in civilization ne- 
cessary to enable them to main- 
tain the Christian faith, after it 
is introduced among them: so 
another people, not from external 
causes, accidental conditions, but 
from the low order of their men- 
tal and moral endowments, may 
be equally unable to uphold the 
civilization and Christianity ac- 
quired through their relations 
with another race. 

The negro, out of Africa at 
least, has always proved a docile 
proselyte. The race is highly 
susceptible of religious emotions, 
and prone to devotional observ- 
ances. Accordingly in the South 
great success followed missionary 
labors among them. This success 
appeared greater than it was ; for 
the negroes are peculiarly an im- 
itative race; and it is easier to 
imitate the externals of devotions, 
than to understand its objects and 
enter into its spirit. It was soon 
obvious that those branches of 
the Church in which the habits of 
worship afforded the readiest vent 
to devout excitement by external 
manifestations of religious enthu- 
siasm, and gave the greatest fa- 
cilities to taking an active part in 

public prayer, exhortation, and 
in the dicipline of the congrega- 
tion, took the strongest hold upon 
them. The negro, constitution- 
ally, loves excitement and a crowd. 
He is by nature loquacious; in- 
stinctively given to oratory. — 
We have often had occasion to 
observe that, with him, no amount 
of ignorance or of mental obtuse- 
ness, proved the slightest bar to 
the impulse to exhort, to instruct, 
to dogmatize, or to lead in public 

Their knowledge of the negro 
convinced most of those who in- 
terested themselves in their re- 
ligious condition, that both their 
Christianity and their civilization 
could only be upheld by their con- 
stant intercourse and contact with 
a superior and dominant race. — 
Even in the heart of cultivated 
communities, the oldest towns in 
the South, negro congregations 
under negro pastors showed a 
perpetual tendency to glide into 
a sensuous religion, into debasing 
superstition and corrupt practices. 
The negroes are prone to preserve 
and even to revive rites worthy of 
the grossest paganism. We will 
give an example of this: In the 
earliest settled part of South Car- 
olina, on a plantation which had 
been in the possession of the same 
family for generations, the pro- 
prietor found that, when a negro 
died, his family, for many nights 
after his death, would place a 
dish of food on his grave; and 
finding the dish empty in the 
morning, were fully convinced 
that their dead kinsman had enjoy- 
ed the repast they had provided. 
In a Christian country, among 
negroes calling themselves Christ- 


The Decay of Eeligion in the South. 


ians, it cost their master frequent 
expostulations, much explanation, 
and repeated prohibitions, before 
he could slowly eradicate this 
heathen rite. 

The negroes, in the country 
especially, shunned the observa- 
tion of the whites in their relig- 
ious and funeral services. This 
shyness of remark originated both 
from the fear of ridicule, and of 
prohibition of some of their pro- 
ceedings. The writer of this ar- 
ticle, although living habitually 
the greater part of the year on 
theplantation just spoken of, did 
not often pry into their mysteries, 
yet took an occasional opportuni- 
ty of observing, unobserved, the 
proceedings of a funeral. On the 
plantations the funerals usually 
took place at night, in order that 
friends from other plantations 
might attend. "We will give an 
account of one we witnessed un- 
observed. The night was dark 
and somewhat rainy. The bier, 
preceded, and followed by more 
than three hundred negroes, many 
of whom bore torches of pitch 
pine, was borne from the negro 
village to the plantation burial 
ground in the heart of a cedar 
grove. We took our post, hidden 
by a large tree, while the blazing 
torches lighted up the undulating 
ground, and the trunks, branches 
and foliage of the woodland scene. 
The crowd assembled around the 
grave with the torches blazing 
over their heads, and a heavy 
column of smoke soon formed a 
canopy over them, while a prayer 
was offered up and a discourse de- 
livered by one of the head men of 
the plantation with fluency and 
fervor, and indications of no little 

knowledge of Scripture. So far 
all was well. But when the 
preacher had concluded his ad- 
dress, the men still stood grouped 
around the grave, while the wo- 
men, more than a hundred, drew 
aside a few steps to a level spot. 
Here one of them began a very 
peculiar chant, and all the others 
were soon circling around her 
in a wild yet monotonous dance, 
at every pause she made, repeat- 
ing by way of a chorus what she 
had last uttered. She sung in a 
contralto voice, and was plainly 
an improvisatrice, what she said 
referring either to the individual 
dead — lamenting his death, or 
dwelling on some trait in his char- 
acter, or else alluding to local and 
contemporary matters. She dis- 
played, amidst her extravagances, 
some range of sentiment, com- 
mand of language and rhythmical 
powers, and was vociferously sec- 
onded by her dancing body-guard 
and somewhat bacchanalian cho- 
rus. All evidently enjoyed the 
occasion for venting their animal 
spirits under the guise of religious 
emotions. The whole concert ac- 
corded so ill with the preceding 
mournful occasion and the pre- 
ceding solemnities, as to exhibit a 
revolting mixture of heathen and 
Christian rites. Yet most of 
the negroes were Methodists, many 
were Baptists, and others habitual- 
ly catechised and preached to by 
a clergyman of the Episcopal 
Church. At the end of these cer- 
emonies the blazing lights were 
thrown on the ground and ex- 
tinguished, nor could one of the 
negroes have been afterwards in- 
duced to apply these consecrated 
torches to an}?- secular use. 


The Decay of Beligion in the South. 


From all that we have seen of 
the religious tendencies, we had 
almost said instincts, of the ne- 
gro, we have been forced to assent 
to the conclusion of an able and 
learned minister of the Presbyte- 
rian Church, not a native of 
America, who assured us that 
those clergymen who had devoted 
themselves to the instruction of 
congregations composed exclu- 
sively of blacks, had mistaken the 
mode of promoting the Christian 
progress; this end being best se- 
cured by bringing them into the 
church as adjuncts to the congre- 
gations of whites. This he had 
found the only means of temper- 
ing and controlling their bent to 
superstitious and corrupting ob- 

It was constantly remarked that 
a strong profession of religious 
zeal was far more common among 
the negro men than women, while 
the reverse is the case among 
white people. But this, among 
the blacks, was almost always ac- 
companied by an eager desire to 
assume, however ignorant the 
party might be, the character of 
a teacher, exhorter, and leader 
among his people. "With some 
marked exceptions, it was but too 
evident that the hope of acquiring 
influence and personal advantage 
was the corner-stone at the found- 
ation of their zeal. It may be 
that their subject condition nar- 
rowed the field of action open to 
the designing and ambitious; but 
what ever was the cause, no 
where else could be found, among 
the teachers of any class of Christ- 
ians, so many wolves in sheep's 

A tendency to corrupt Christ- 

ianity is common to all mankind; 
but among the negroes it was 
found peculiarly diflScult to abol- 
ish and keep out superstitious 
practices, to suppress a mere noisy 
manifestation of religious excite- 
ment, to impress upon them the 
permanent nature of the marriage 
bond, and to convince them of 
the impossibility of divorcing god- 
liness from righteousness. A 
thorough knowledge of the negro 
made it plain that both their civi- 
lization and their Christianity 
were dependent upon their inter- 
course with and subjection to an- 
other race. 

^Ye do not mean to imply, by 
any thing that we have said, that 
the people of the South had ac- 
quitted themselves of their obli- 
gation, as Christians, to evangel- 
ize the negroes among them and 
under their control. The greater 
part of the people of these States, 
like the bulk of the population of 
every country in Christendom, are 
not truly followers of Christ. — 
Even using the term, Christian, 
in the lowest sense, there were 
still among the whites, as well as 
the blacks, throughout the South, 
large fields for apostolic labor al- 
most unoccupied. But we can 
truly say that for many years the 
labors for the religious instruct- 
ion of the negro, were far more 
general, more earnest, and ap- 
parently far more successful than 
strangers to the South, and the 
unobservant there, have imag- 

So much on the religious condi- 
tion of the South u]) to 1860. — 
"We now come to the indications 
and the causes of the decay of re- 
ligion since that time. That the 


The Decay of Beligion in the South. 


change has been great and the 
downward progress rapid, can be 
made obvious to all. This is ow- 
ing to certain material, as well as 
moral, causes. Of their material 
causes we will speak first. 

In a country at once Christian 
and rich, the very Mammon of 
unrighteousness is made a power- 
ful agent in advancing the glory 
of God. Even men, careless of 
the future, and base in their 
morals, often give freely of their 
superfluities to the building of 
churches, the support of minis- 
ters, the extension of missions, 
the publication of religious books, 
and the education of those des- 
tined to become instrumental for 
enlarging the kingdom of Christ. 
All history tells us that there is a 
close connection between the civi- 
lization and prosperity of a peo- 
ple, and their religious condition. 
We need but look at the degraded 
churches, and the corrupted faith 
of the Christian population of the 
first seat of our religion, and of 
the nations around it, now the 
servants of the Turk. Christi- 
anity was yet new on earth when 
its corruption was hastened by 
the wars and devastations, the 
decay of commerce, arts, learning, 
and civilization, that followed the 
dismemberment of the Eoman 
Empire. At this day we see the 
Church of Kome every where 
identical in dogmas, discipline, 
and rites, yet widely varying in 
different countries in its practical 
nature, in its results on priest and 
laymen, according to the charac- 
ter and condition of the people of 
each land. It is one thing in 
Germany, France, and England; 
quite another in Spain, Portugal, 

Mexico, and South America. — 
Here at home, within the pale of 
other Churches than that of 
Eome, we can mark wide differ- 
ences in the Christianity pro- 
fessed and practiced in the more 
enlightened and more ignorant 
parts of the world. 

The people of the Southern 
States, after a strenuous effort to 
defend their political rights, and 
social organization, and ward off 
the ruin impending at the hands 
of their more numerous and 
domineering confederates, suffer- 
ed an overthrow more disastrous 
to their material prosperity, than 
nine out of ten of the conquests 
recorded in history, ever proved 
to the vanquished people. For 
this conquest, and the social revo- 
lution resulting from it, destroy- 
ed the very elements of prosperi- 
ty. The Korman conquests of 
England did not stamp sterility 
upon the soil, or paralyze the 
laborer's arm. The Russian con- 
quest of Poland did not sweep 
away the elements of fertility, or 
the means of making them avail- 
able. We might summon in wit- 
ness a long array of conquests, 
which left the material resources 
of the conquered regions unim- 
paired. But the overthrow of 
the South, and of its social or- 
ganization is surely, and not 
slowly, conyerting its most pro- 
ductive territories into barren 
wastes, hastening to return to the 
wilderness from which they were 
laboriously won. 

For these States are fertile only 
in a certain sense, and it is not 
the labor of every race that can 
make that fertility available. — 
The climate, in most parts below. 


The Decay of Eeligion in tJie South. 


and many above the thirty-fifth 
degree of latitude, is ill-suited to 
the winter growing grain crops, 
which furnish the chief food of 
civilized man. Here the yield is 
most uncertain, and always small. 
The summer's sun parches up the 
pastures and cuts short the pro- 
duce of the meadows, so that 
little profit is derived from cattle 
and the products of the dairy. 
The South is dependent for food 
on summer-growing crops, re- 
quiring frequent tillage during 
their growth, most of it by- 
manual labor, during the hottest 
and most unhealthy season of the 

But if the climate, and perhaps 
the soil, of the southern part of 
this continent, and those of the 
adjacent islands have been found 
ill-suited to the ordinary crops of 
the farm, they are admirably 
adapted to some great agricultu- 
ral staples, which at once become 
the basis of a world-wide com- 
merce ; for, while they can be 
grown to advantage, only, under 
peculiar climates, they are easily 
transported to, and eagerly sought 
after in, every land. 

A great field was here opened 
for agricultural enterprise, in- 
dustry, and skill. But, from the 
first settlement of the country, it 
has been found that, on the more 
productive soils of this bountiful 
region, the man of Caucasian race 
followed the labors of the field at 
the cost of health, and the hazard 
of life. He cultivated summer- 
growing crops, unlike the crops 
sowed from their first germina- 
tion, in autumn, and growing 
through the winter, they strug- 
gled for air and soil with a host 

of rank-growing weeds. They 
can only be preserved and pro- 
tected by frequent tillage, during 
their growth, chiefly by manual 
labor, at the hottest season of the 
year. We hear sometimes of 
great returns to farming with 
white labor in the South. The 
instances are few, are confined to 
peculiarly healthy spots, and the 
success grossly exaggerated.— 
What says the experience of two 
centuries? The constitutions of 
few white men long stand the 
wasting efiects of the climate, 
when laid open to its worst in- 
fluences by the fatigue and ex- 
posure of the husbandman's toil 
under our almost tropical sun. 
The country was settled at a 
frightful cost of human life. 
Families of European laborers 
either ceased to toil as they were 
wont at home, or died out. 
Every one who has witnessed the 
amount of toil undergone, the 
year round, by the hard working 
peasantry of England, Scotland, 
Ireland, and Germany, knows 
that in the productive parts of 
the Southern States, such a class 
neither does, nor can exist. 

But this was not the result with 
all races. The negroes brought 
hither from Africa, by the ships 
of old and New England, found a 
climate and country congenial to 
their nature, difiering indeed 
somewhat from their native land, 
but, perhaps, more favorable to 
them. This we may infer from 
their speedy multiplication by 
natural increase, and their im- 
provement in eflSciency, intelli- 
gence and civilization; or must 
we attribute these eflects, not in 
part to country and climate, but 


The Decay of Beligion in the South. 


altogether to their improved so- 
cial condition? Less than three 
hundred thousand Africans, the 
first of whom were brought to the 
English Colonies in North Ameri- 
ca since the middle of the 17th 
century, and most of them a hun- 
dred years later, were represented, 
in 1860, by more than four mil- 
lions of their oflfspring. Certain 
it is that, in numberless regions 
of the South, the same air that 
breathes pestilence and death to 
the white man, wafts health and 
vigor to the black. 

If the experience of two centu- 
ries proves that no great and 
profitable return can be looked 
for from the soil of the South but 
through negro labor, the expe- 
rience of the three years which 
have elapsed since the emancipa- 
tion of the negroes — backed by 
the results of negro freedom in 
Hayti, Jamaica, Cape Colony and 
in the Northern States— equally 
proves that, with few exceptions, 
the negro, as a free man, is un- 
profitable to himself, and as a 
hireling, worthless and ruinous to 
all who employ him. In 1790, 
French St. Domingo exported 
§25,000,000 in sugar and cofiee 
alone — the Empire of Hayti has 
taken its place, and exports — 
nothing worth naming. Its peo- 
lole are truly '■fruges consumere 
nati,^ for their scanty diet is little 
else than fruit, the spontaneous 
gift of the soil. Chronic revolu- 
tion seems to be the only other 
production. In Jamaica the strong 
hand of Great Britain has failed 
to sustain industry; and after 
thirty years of experiment, it has 
been found necessary, to enforce 
order and protect life, by abolish- 
^YOL. V. NO. III. 

ing the local legislature, and put- 
ting the Queen's authority in its 
place. Such is the testimony of 
Hayti and Jamaica. Every wit- 
ness from abroad tells a similar 
tale. Here in the South, except 
in small farming in the least fer- 
tile, and therefore more healthy 
parts of the country, where white 
men can labor without ruin to 
their health, agricultural labor 
has been so far annihilated that 
the outlay on almost every agri- 
cultural enterprise, and indeed on 
all undertakings requiring much 
unskilled labor, has far exceeded 
the returns. They must all be 
abandoned. The planter reaps 
only ruin. The people of the 
South find themselves poorer and 
less hopeful year by year. Many, 
formerly wealthy and still holding 
large landed property, once of 
great value, are reduced to abso- 
lute want. Their land is worth- 
less, for the only labor that can 
render it productive can hardly 
be said to exist. The few fields 
cultivated yearly shrink within 
narrower bounds. The idleness 
and consequent destitution of the 
negroes drives them to depredate 
on the crops before they are har- 
vested or even ripe— and are a 
yet more fatal obstacle to all pas- 
toral industry; for live stock of 
all kinds rapidly disappears be- 
fore the nocturnal enterprises of 
these hungry marauders. Al- 
ready, in some parts of the coun- 
try, the impulses of desperate 
want, guided by the emissaries 
of evil sent among them, gather 
them into armed bands, in open 
day light, and drive them to acts 
of wholesale plunder, violence and 
outrage. These may be local and 



The Decay of Beligion in the South. 


temporary ; but the destruction of 
the agricultural and pastoral pros- 
perity of the country is perma- 
nent, and involves the utter loss , 
of value in all fixed capital there. 
The mass of the people of the 
South, formerly so prosperous, 
are stinted in the necessaries of 
life. Many neighborhoods have 
been almost deserted by the edu- 
cated, the influential, and the 
once wealthy classes. There is 
not now in the South remunera- 
tive employment for a fifth of 
those whose professions imply a 
liberal and costly education. The 
greater number of them must 
seek new homes, where their skill 
and knowledge may be valued 
and rewarded — or remain to starve 
on incomes falling short of the 
wages of a ploughman. This falls 
with peculiar weight on the clergy. 
Although their calling relates 
chiefly to man's interest in an- 
other world, they must be fed, 
clothed, and housed in this; for 
' the laborer is worthy of his hire.' 
But, when the wants of this life 
come to press heavily on a needy 
people, men begin to retrench by 
dispensing with the services of a 
profession whose duties refer to a 
life yet to come. The minister is 
starved out on a curtailed and 
often unpaid salary. Soon he 
must neglect dispensing 'the 
bread of life' to earn that bread 
which feeds the body. ' Por he, 
who provideth not for his own 
household, hath denied the faith, 
and is worse than an infidel.' — 
Churches are closed and not re- 
opened, they decay and are not 
repaired, they crumble to the 
earth and are not rebuilt. Even 
churches richly endowed are no 

better off", for their glebe lands be- 
come valueless like all other prop- 
erty in the country. 

Upon those branches of the 
church, like the Episcopal and 
Presbyterian, which require of 
their ministers a high standard in 
education and social position, the 
evil falls soonest and heaviest; 
but it has gradually a ruinous ef- 
fect on all. Even the church of 
Eome, in which, from the celibacy 
of the clergy, a high standard of 
education is maintained at com- 
paratively a small cost, will be 
slowly starved out. 

Now though numbers of man- 
kind pass through life apparently 
without a thought beyond the bare 
and fleeting objects of this world, 
yetj by his very nature, man is 
prone to some kind of worship; 
and by his fallen and corrupt na- 
ture he is prone to the gradual 
degradation of the mode and ob- 
ject of that worship. No people 
are long without religious teach- 
ers; for their's is a post of power, 
the greater in proportion to the 
ignorance of their flock, often too 
great to measure that of the pas- 
tor. Nor is it mere ignorance 
that takes the place of knowledge. 
Error in its most corrupting 
forms, soon fills the place of truth. 
We can only shut out from the 
church gross imposture, groveling 
superstition, revolting rites, and 
mad fanaticism through the la- 
bors of an educated class of men 
especially devoted to the study 
and teaching of the word of God. 
But throughout large portions of 
the South the people have no 
longer the means of maintaining 
this class, indispensible as their 
services may be. 


The Decay of Beligion in the South. 


But besides the causes origina- 
ting in the poverty and ruin of 
the country, others of a moral 
nature are exerting an evil influ- 
ence on the religious faith of too 
many in the South. 

The people of these States 
entered on secession with a good 
conscience, and defended their 
rights, in arms, with undoubting 
faith , fully believing it to be not 
only their right, but their duty, 
to break off all partnership with 
their Northern confederates. This 
conviction , which had been grow- 
ing on them for years, sprung 
into action at the new light, 
thrown by late and startling de- 
velopments, on the true charac- 
ter and designs of the mass of the 
Northern people. 

The people of the Southern 
States felt that they had a civili- 
zation worth preserving, and that 
it was altogether dependent on the 
maintenance of their political and 
social organization. Observing 
and. reflecting men , among them , 
had long foreseen , and proclaimed 
that the triumph of the Northern 
policy and machinations must at 
once bring down political and 
moral degradation on the South , 
with its economical ruin ; and con- 
demn the negro to barbarism, 
godless superstition , and ultimate 

"When denounced and anathe- 
matized by the Northern abo- 
litionists, the Southern slave-hold- 
er had looked to the North to 
ascertain the true motives and 
character of his vituperative as- 
sailants , and the condition of the 
negroes living among them. He 
at once saw that there was no ac- 
cord between the words and ac- 

tions of the Northern people. 
The negro there was but a master- 
less slave, needing, but destitute 
of, an individual protector; the 
]pariah of the community , thrown 
oft" to find for himself the neces- 
saries of life , yet excluded , by a 
social excommunicatioH , from 
every profitable and reputable 
calling. Although recruited by 
occasional fugitives from the 
South, the negroes there were 
dwindling in numbers, and dying 
out from destitution. For the 
working classes at the North,, 
universally treated the black man 
as an interloper, standing in the 
way of the whites ; and if he at- 
tempted to follow any trade or 
craft, which the former found it 
profitable to engage in, the mob 
soon taught him, by club law, tO' 
repent his presumption. "We 
will give a single illustration of 
this feeling: In a Northern city, 
a negro fugitive from the South, 
where he had been bred a brick- 
layer, obtained employment as a 
hodman on a house, then build- 
ing, on one of the principal 
streets. "When the workmen went 
to dinner, the negro, who had no 
dinner to go to, thought he would 
try if his hand had lost its skill, 
and began to lay a few bricks. 
This attracted the notice of some 
workmen passing by , and a group 
of them gathered together, the 
exclamation was soon heard, 
' Look at that damned negro pre- 
tending to do a white man's 
work ! ' A shower of brick-bats 
at once drove him from his trowel , 
and obliged him to seek refuge 
within the building, to escape a 
fracture of the skull. 
It was easy to see that there 


The Decay of Beligion in the South. 


was mingled with the jSTorthern 
hostility to negro slavery, a large 
amount of hostility to the negro. 
There were, in fact, two classes of 
Abolitionists, one seeking to 
abolish negro slavery, the other 
to abolish the negro himself, as a 
nuisance and obstruction in the 
white man's way. Many who 
professed to be of the former class , 
really belonged to the latter. 
Southern men saw so many 
proofs, both open and latent, of 
this animosity against the blacks, 
that they were forced to recog- 
nize in themselves, as the masters, 
the only real friends and protec- 
tors of the race. In the day of 
secession we doubt if there was a 
single secessionist who believed 
that the negroes would be as well 
off in freedom as they then were. 
The belief of that day has now 
ripened into knowledge. 

We might bring forward a 
thousand proofs of the hollowness 
of the anti-slavery sentiment. A 
few will suffice. This same peo- 
ple of the Korth, while they pro- 
claim the universal equality of 
man, in their animosity against 
the whites of the South, are 
moving heaven and earth to give 
the negroes the control of the 
local governments there; yet, at 
home, amoiig themselves, they 
deny all social and political 
equality to the black, shut him 
out from all share of power, all 
lucrative and creditable pursuits. 
Again : All remember the im- 
mense success at the Korth, of 
Helper's 'Impending Crisis,' a 
book written to rouse the people 
there to tear down the barriers of 
the Constitution, in order to 
abolish negro slavery. Its object 

and sentiments procured it the 
public endorsement of a large 
portion of the Northern Senators 
and Representatives. The book 
was but a tissue of abuse of the 
South, except in its shallow and 
blundering attempt to prove to 
Southern men who had no slaves, 
that slavery was a debasing ob- 
struction to them , while the slave- 
holders, not one-twentieth part of 
the whites in the Soutli, alone, 
drew profit and power from it. 
Insidious as his reasoning was, 
few in the South were misled by 
it, and its utter falsehood is now 
known to all. But his aim is at- 
tained ; the work is accomplished ; 
the negro is free. And Helper 
now writes a second book to prove 
that the negro is an encumbrance 
and curse upon the land, and 
must be driven out, or extermi- 
nated. Are these the vagaries of 
a madman? No. They are -the 
successive and well-timed strokes 
of a concocted policy. Now, as 
in 1860, Helper finds readers and 
approvers in crowds. His book 
is the manifesto of a party. He 
is a representative man. 

For years the world has rung 
with clamorous anathemas against 
the enormities perpetrated by the 
slave-holders in the South. Lis- 
ten to the Abolitionists, and ne- 
gro slavery was the only shape 
evil assumed on earth. All the 
world was an Eden, and this the 
black and crawling viper which 
poisoned its innocence, polluted 
its zephyrs, and desolated its 
fruitful groves. They raked up 
every fact and falsehood that 
could illustrate their history of 
' The Great Iniquity.' But they 
chose their facts like that unim- 


The Decay of Beligion in the South. 


aginative painter, who sketched 
each distorted limb and feature he 
got sight of, in order by com- 
bining them, to paint his monster. 

We have no wish to deny that, 
in this, as in other cases, the 
possession of power led to in- 
stances of brutal tyranny. "We 
might add thrilling incidents to 
' Uncle Tom's Cabin ,' perhaps 
more authentic than those found 
there, but liable to the same ob- 
jection, that they represented the 
rare exceptions, and not the rule. 
Nor would we perpetuate the 
blunder of making the negro and 
mulatto the superior race. But 
we could quite as easily make up 
our fagot of social horrors in 
the free communities of London 
and New York. 

There are two or three broad 
facts, which no man can deny, 
yet which give the ' lie direct ' to 
the oft-repeated assertions as to 
the cruelty of the Southern mas- 
ter, and the misery of the slave. 

The rapid multiplication of the 
negroes throughout the South, 
and their increased efficiency over 
native Africans, is, itself, suffi- 
cient proof that they were not in 
an unnatural or disadvantageous 
condition. Being chiefly occupied 
in rural labors, they were spread- 
ing over the country even more 
rapidly than the whites, fast as 
they grew in numbers. This 
slave population, so assiduously 
pictured, by the Yankee and Eng- 
lish anti- slavery press, as bowed 
down and worn out by un- 
ceasing toil, and ruled with brutal 
severity, was, in general, well 
provided for, not over worked, 
and easily controlled by their 
masters, among whom oppression 

and harshness was the exception, 
and not the rule. It is a libel on 
human nature, contradicted by all 
experience, to assert that the ex- 
ercise of power engenders the de- 
sire only to oppress, and not to 
benefit those under our control. 
In this case the result proved its 
falsehood. A natural, and there- 
fore general , though not univer- 
sal, union of selfish interests and 
kindly feelings led the master to 
take care that his negro should be 
fed, and not hungry, clothed and 
not naked, sheltered and not 
houseless; that he should seek 
comfort in a house, and not 
fly as from a prison ; that he 
should be, not a beast goaded on 
under the yoke, but a laborer to 
be employed; not an enemy to 
be watched and feared even in his 
bonds, but a dependent who could 
be trusted. And that these ob- 
jects were not only aimed at but 
attained, is proved by undeniable 
facts. The natural docility of the 
negro, a certain sluggishness of 
body and mind, a sense of infe- 
riority lead him to look beyond 
himself and his own race for guid- 
ance and command, and render 
him the most easily governed and 
most incapable of ruling, of all 
people. All the intrigues and 
machinations of the Northern 
Abolitionists failed to throw the 
negroes into a rebellious or even 
discontented mood. Nothing can 
more conclusively prove this, and 
that the negroes were in a natural 
and comfortable condition, than 
the absence, not only befor^, but 
during the war, of insurrection or 
even insubordination; even when, 
in many parts of the country, the 
greater number of the few mas- 


The Decay of Eeligion in the South. 


ters were absent on military ser- 
vice, leaving the women and chil- 
dren surrounded by, and to the 
protection of, large gangs of ne- 
groes, whose only change of con- 
duct, as time passed on, was a 
gradual slackening of industry for 
the indulgence of the indolence 
so natural to them. Even in the 
midst of the war, at points not 
remote from the enemy, but daily 
reverberating with the sound of 
their cannon, many negroes were 
habitually entrusted with fire- 
arms, as plantation watchmen, 
■or when sent in pursuit of game, 
:and no ill consequence ensued. — 
In every ' part of the South it 
required the actual presence and 
exhortations of the enemy to in- 
duce them to throw oft' what had 
been constantly pictured as a 
grievous and galling yoke. What 
the negroes sought, when left to 
themselves, was not freedom, but 
exemption from that labor which 
is the lot of man. To the end of 
the war it was starvation and im- 
pressment, not voluntary enlist- 
2nent that filled the ranks, con- 
stantly thinned by desertion, of 
the negro regiments raised by the 

United States Government in the 
South. It was only when goaded 
on by the counsels and exhorta- 
tions of the Northern agitator 
that the negro, when freed, ex- 
hibited feelings of hostility against 
the Southern man, and generally 
least of all against his former mas- 
ter. These feelings were not found 
in their hearts, but had to be 
sown and cultivated there. There 
were of course, exceptional cases. 
Four millions of people can be no 
where found who do not include 
characters of every kind. But of 
the negroes as a class, the whites, 
as their former masters, had no 
cause to complain. The same na- 
ture makes him worthless as a 
hireling, which made him so use- 
ful as a slave. Of all races he 
alone accepts servitude as a decree 
of nature and not of necessity. — 
But spontaneous industry seems 
foreign to his constitution. When 
free, laziness is his master. He 
must be trained to systematic la- 
bor by authority, example, and 
some penalty on indolence, nearer 
at hand and more definite than 
the mere prospect of want. 

1868.] Storm ayid Calm. 215 



Sweet are these kisses of the South 
J^& if they dropped from maiden's mouth; 
And softer are these cloudless skies 
Than many a tender maiden's eyes. 

But, ah! beneath such influence 
Thought is too often lost in sense; 
And Action, faltering, as we thrill, 
Sinks in the. unnerved arms of Will! 

Awake, thou Stormy Korth! and blast 
The subtle spells around us cast; 
Beat from our limbs these flowery chains 
"With the sharp scourges of thy rains! 

Bring with thee from thy polar cave 
All the wild sounds of wind and wave. 
Of toppling berg and grinding floe. 
And the dread avalanche of snow. 

"Wrap us in Arctic night and clouds, 
Yell like a fiend amid the shrouds 
Of some slow-sinking vessel, when 
He hears the shrieks of drowning men. 

Blend in thy mighty voice whate'er 
Of danger, terror, and despair, 
Thou hast encountered in thy sweep 
Across the land and o'er the deep. 

Pour in our ears all notes of woe 
That, as these very moments flow, 
Rise like a harsh, discordant psalm, 
"While we lie here in tropic calm. 

Sting our weak hearts with bitter shame, 
Bear us along with thee like flame; 
And show that even to destroy 
More godlike may be than to toy. 
And rust or rot in idle joy! 


The State of Franklin. 



At the return of the members 
from Tarborough, in July, of 
1788, it was announced that the 
parent State had no intention of 
acceding to the views of those 
who favored the establishment of 
the Franklin Government. A fit 
opportunity soon after occurred of 
testing the supremacy of the old 
and new dynasty. "We copy or 
condense from Haywood an ac- 
count of it. A fieri facias had 
been placed in the hands of the 
sheriff of Washington county to 
be executed against the property 
of Sevier. The sheriff, acting un- 
der the authority of Korth Caro- 
lina, seized Sevier's negroes and 
removed them for safe keeping to 
the house of Col. Tipton. Sevier 
was, at this time, on the frontier 
providing for the defence of the 
inhabitants against the Indians. 
Hearing of the seizure of his ne- 
groes, by virtue of an illegal pro- 
cess, as he deemed it, and by an 
officer not legally constituted, he re- 
solved to suppress all opposition to 
the new government. He raised a 
hundred and fifty men and march- 
ed directly to Tipton's house, near 
to which he arrived in the after- 
noon. Kot more than fifteen 
men of Tipton's party were then 
with him. Sevier halted his troops 
two or three hundred yards from 
the house, on a sunken piece of 
ground, where they were covered 
from annoyance by those in the 
house. Tipton had gained some 
intimation af Sevier's approach 
and barricaded the house against 
the expected assault. The Gov- 

ernor presented himself and his 
troops, with a small piece of ord- 
nance, took post in front of 
the house and demanded the un- 
conditional surrender of Tipton 
and of all who were with him. — 
Tipton sent word to Sevier to 
"fire and be damned." Sevier 
then sent a written summons. — 
This, with a letter calling for as- 
sistance, Tipton sent immediately 
to Col. Maxwell, in Sullivan coun- 
ty. For some time Tipton would 
not permit any communication 
with Sevier. Early next morn- 
ing, however, he consented that 
one of his men should correspond 
with Sevier. This correspondence 
resulted in nothing, only allowed 
time for Tipton's expected rein- 
forcements, which did arrive, and 
by their junction with the be- 
sieged, infused fresh vigor into 
their resolutions. Elholm, who 
was second in command to Sevier, 
in order to make short work, and 
to avoid the danger of delay, pro- 
posed the erection of a light mov- 
able battery, under cover of which 
the troops might safely advance 
to the walls of the house. In the 
mean time, those coming in and 
going out of the house, were fired 
upon and one man was killed and 
another wounded. Col. Maxwell, 
with one hundred and eighty men, 
had, at night, reached nearly to 
the camp of Sevier, and avoiding 
his sentinels, approached Tipton's 
house and awaited the dawn of 
day to raise the siege. As soon 
as objects had become visible, 
the snow falling, and Sevier's 


The State of Franklin. 


men advancing on the house, the 
troops under Maxwell fired a vol- 
ley and raised a shout which 
seemed to reach the heavens, and 
communicated to the besieged 
that deliverance was at hand. — 
From the house they reechoed the 
shout and immediately sallied out 
upon the besiegers. In the midst 
of these loud rejoicings a tremor 
seized the dismayed adherents of 
Sevier, and they fled in all di- 
rections, through every avenue 
that promised escape from the 
victors. Tipton and Maxwell 
did not follow them more than 
two hundred yards. Within one 
hour afterwards Sevier sent in a 
flag, proposing terms of accom- 
modation. One man had been 
mortally wounded. Among the 
prisoners were two of Sevier's 
sons. Tipton forthwith determ- 
ined to hang them both, but by 
solicitations of some of Tipton's 
party, with whom the young men 
were at good understanding, he 
desisted from his purpose. 

This is the account usually 
given of the afiair between Sevier 
and Tipton. It is believed to 
be mainly correct. The declara- 
tion put into the mouth of Gov. 
Sevier, that he intended to sup- 
press all opposition to Franklin 
by force, needs confirmation, or 
ought to be qualified. From the 
commencement of the difliculties 
between the parent State and her 
revolted counties, Sevier had de- 
termined to avoid, and did pre- 
vent, violence and bloodshed. — 
His moderation and his good 
temper, have been attested by the 
narrative of every pioneer this 
writer has had the opportunity to 
examine. The Governor in every 

instance dissuaded from violence, 
or even tumult. His own letters 
private and ofiicial, breathe the 
same spirit. In one of them he 
deprecated pathetically to Gov. 
Mathews, a resort to force, and 
speaks of the mother State with 
afiection and regard — indeed in a 
tone of filial piety, which cannot 
be too much admired. His con- 
duct during the siege of Tipton's 
house, and until he withdrew 
from it, demonstrates what is in- 
tended here to be said, that Gov. 
Sevier did not intend to maintain 
the authority of Franklin by 
force. It is known that in order 
to recover his property, then in 
the custody of Tipton's adherents, 
and confined in the house, the de- 
termined spirit of that brave man 
defied Sevier. Major Elholm ad- 
vised an immediate assault, and 
oftered to lead it. The Governor 
restrained the ardor of his Ad- 
jutant and declared, that not a gun 
should be fired. Elholm renewed 
his application for leave to storm 
the house, when he was silenced 
by the remark that he came not 
there to kill his countrymen, and 
that those who followed him had 
no such wish or design. Sevier 
himself, and most of his ad- 
herents, were too patriotic not to 
be dissatisfied with the position 
which surrounding circumstances 
had forced him to assume, and 
which he now most reluctantly 
occupied, at the head of the in- 
surgents, and prompted to engage 
them in a fratricidal warfare. 
His sword had been often drawn 
for his country— his heart had 
never quailed before its enemies. 
Over these he had often triumph- 
ed ; but now he refused to imbrue 


The State of Franklin. 


his hands in the blood of patriotic 
countrymen and friends. The 
patriot prevailed over the officer, 
the citizen over the soldier. The 
sternness of the commander yield- 
ed to the claims of duty, and of a 
common citizenship. His de- 
meanor during the siege, and es- 
pecially on the night before the 
assault, is represented by those of 
his party who served under him, 
before and after this occasion, to 
have been very different from 
that which he usually manifested. 
The men under his command ex- 
hibited the same altered be- 
havior. In all their campaigns, 
ardor and enthusiasm attended 
the march — care and vigilance 
the bivouac, — the mirthful song 
and the merry jest were heard in 
every tent. On these occasions, 
it was the custom of Sevier to 
visit every mess and to participate 
in their hilarity. He spoke of 
enemies and dangers before, and 
of friends and home behind them. 
He was thus the companion and 
friend and idol of his soldiery. 
But now the camp of the Gover- 
nor of Franklin was dreary and 
cheerless. No merry laugh was 
heard— nor song — nor jest. Little 
care and less vigilance was taken 
in placing out his sentinels. — 
Sevier was silent, appeared ab- 
stracted, thoughtful, and at this 
time only in his whole public life, 
morose and ascetic. Elholm's 
vivacity failed to arouse him. 
He communicated little to that 
officer, he said nothing to his men. 
He took no precaution, suggested 
no plans, either of attack or de- 
fence. The enemies of his coun- 
try were not before him, and the 
patriot Governor repressed the 

aspirations of the "Commander- 
in-Chief of the army of the State 
of Franklin." In no other in- 
stance can be found a livelier ex- 
hibition of the true moral sub- 
lime of patriotism. 

The example of Sevier was con- 
tagious. The energy and skill of 
Elholm eifected nothing. Even 
he could not convert American 
citizens into fratricides. 

A similar spirit actuated the 
adverse party. Their courageous 
leader acted only on the defensive. 
When the siege was raised no im- 
mediate pursuit was made. The 
besiegers and the besieged were 
soon after friends and peaceable 
neighbors. It is still strange, un- 
der all the circumstances, that so 
few of both parties were killed or 
wounded. This has sometimes 
been ascribed to, and accounted 
for, by the heavy snow storm 
which occurred during the siege, 
and especially at the assault. — 
One of the besieged, the late Dr. 
Taylor, may explain it in his own 
words: "We did not go thereto 
fight. Neither party intended to 
do that. Many on both sides 
were unarmed, and some who had 
guns did not even load them. — 
Most of us went to prevent mis- 
chief, and did not intend to let 
the neighbors kill one another. — 
Our men shot into the air, and 
Sevier's men into the corners of the 
house. As to the storm of snow 
keeping the men from taking sure 
aim, it is all a mistake. Both 
sides had the best marksmen in 
the world, who had often killed a 
deer, and shot it in the head too, 
when a heavier snow was falling. 
The men did not try to kill any 
body. They could easily have 


The State of FranTcUn. 


done so if they had been enemies." 
Of the same import is another 
authority. " Col. Pemberton or- 
dered a general discharge of the 
rifles of his party. The discharge 
was made intentionally to avoid 
shooting any of Sevier's men." — 
Other testimony to the same ef- 
fect might be given, all confirma- 
tory of the position that is here 
taken, that both parties, leaders 
and adherents, were alike indis- 
posed to shed blood. 

The date of this affair was the 
28th of February, 1788. Agree- 
ably to the Constitution of Frank- 
lin, the duration of Sevier's office 
as Grovernor continued no longer 
than the 1st of March, and as the 
Assembly had failed to make a 
new appointment of a successor, 
as Sevier himself was ineligible, 
he was now without office and au- 
thority, and a mere private citizen. 
During the time he had adminis- 
tered the affairs of Franklin, little 
disturbance existed from the In- 
dians on the frontier. The Chero- 
kees had learned, by past expe- 
rience, the danger of hostilities 
with the Franklin people, when 
commanded by an officer of such 
vigor and capacity, as in all his 
campaigns, had been manifested 
by Sevier. But during the short 
absence of such of the riflemen as 
had gone from the lower settle- 
ments to the camp of the Govern- 
or near Tipton's house, a Chero- 
kee invasion occurred. Messen- 
gers were immediately dispatch- 
ed from the frontier after Sevier, 
urging his immediate return. — 
These he received just after his 
fruitless siege of Tipton's house, 
and when the disasters of the day 
hung like a pall around him, and 

ulcerated his wounded spirit. In 
a moment Sevier was himself 
again; elastic, brave, energetic, 
daring and patriotic. At the 
head of a body of mounted rifle- 
men, he was at once upon the 
frontier to guard and protect its 
most defenceless points and to 
chastise the enemy in their dis- 
tant villages. 

General Martin who now com- 
manded the brigade of Korth 
Carolina militia west of the 
mountains, continued the policy 
of conciliation which had so long 
characterized both of the con- 
tending parties. He wrote to 
General Kennedy, late a Frank- 
lin brigadier, and an adherent of 
Sevier, begging " his friendly in- 
terposition to bring about a re- 
conciliation. You well know this 
is the only way to bring about a 
separation, and also a reconcilia- 
tion for our worthy friend (mean- 
ing Sevier) whose situation at 
this time, is very disagreeable. 
I most sensibly feel for him, and 
will go very great lengths to serve 
him. Pray see him often and 
give him all the comfort you can. 
Tell the people my object is re- 
conciliation, not war." 

There were few— perhaps none- 
even of the adherents of the old 
State, whose feelings and wishes, 
in reference to Sevier, were not in 
exact consonance with those ex- 
pressed by General Martin in this 
letter. Its tone, its moderation, 
its wisdom, its sympathy for a 
soldier and a patriot, constitute 
the highest eulogy upon his own 
good sense, his patriotism and his 
kind feeling. They cannot be too 
much admired or too closely imi- 
tated. They saved the country 


The State of Franklin. 


from further tumult and violence, 
and all opposition, on the part of 
Franklin to North Carolina, 
ceased. Still there were not 
wanting in the West, extra loyal 
men — the simon pures of a later 
day — ultra-patriots, who repre- 
sented to Governor Johnston (the 
successor of Governor Caswell) 
that the conduct and motives of 
Sevier were treasonable. Instruc- 
tions were accordingly sent by 
Johnston, to Judge Campbell, to 
issue a warrant for his arrest and 
confinement in jail, as guilty of 
high treason. Sevier was now 
really a private citizen, without 
command or authority, and yet 
he was constantly at the head of 
troops — volunteers, who selected 
him as their commander, and who 
followed his standard and obeyed 
his orders, as fully and as cheer- 
fully as if he were yet in power. 
The frontier people knew that 
they could not be safe, but by 
their own exertions and military 
services. They needed a leader 
to combine their strength, dis- 
cipline the troops, project expe- 
ditions, secure their exposed 
stations, expel their Indian ene- 
mies, and give quiet and safety 
to a scattered and defenceless peo- 
ple. This responsible duty they 
imposed on Sevier. He could not 
decline the position thus assigned 
him by acclamation. He assum- 
ed it cheerfully and executed its 
duties well. 

The order for the arrest of Se- 
vier was not obeyed by Judge 
Campbell. The past relations of 
that officer with the Governor of 
Franklin, and his own agency in 
several transactions of that Gov- 
ernment, made him unwilling, if 

he was not otherwise incapacita- 
ted, to execute that duty. But 
Spencer, another of the judges, is- 
sued the warrant against Sevier, 
for the crime of high treason. 

Sevier, in the mean time, after 
his return from his Indian cam- 
paigns, appeared openly in all 
public places, and was present at 
Jonesboro when a council of mili- 
tary oflttcers was held. During 
the day, some of the officers and 
Sevier had an altercation, which 
revived past difficulties between 
them and the ex-Governor. They 
had separated and left town. — 
Next morning Tipton and a few 
of his friends pursued and arrest- 
ed Sevier a few miles in the coun- 
try, and brought him back to 
Jonesboro. From here, under 
guard, he was sent for trial, 
across the mountains to Morgan- 
ton where he was delivered to Wm. 
Morrison, the then Sheriff" of 
Burke county. The guard with 
Sevier, had passed through the 
McDowell settlement, two of 
whom had experienced his hos- 
pitality when refugees on Nolli- 
chuckee, and had seen service 
with him at King's Mountain. — 
These became sureties for the 
appearance of Sevier at Morgan- 
ton, and he was allowed a few 
days' absence. He returned punct- 
ually as he had promised, and was 
afterwards still further enlarged 
by the Sheriff'. In a few days his 
two sons, and other friends from 
the west, came into town singly 
and were with the people gener- 
ally, without suspicion. At night 
when the court broke up and the 
people dispersed, they, with the 
ex- Governor, pushed forward to- 
ward the mountains with the 


The State of Franklin. 


greatest rapidity, and before 
morning arrived at them, and 
were beyond the reach of pur- 

Morganton had been selected 
for the trial of the prisoner as be- 
ing the most convenient and ac- 
cessible court in the State, and be- 
yond the limits of the late Frank- 
lin jurisdiction; the authorities 
wisely concluding that at home 
Sevier could not be successfully 
prosecuted. The change of venue, 
however, operated nothing in fa- 
vor of the prosecution. Burke had 
been a strong whig county, and no 
where were whig principles, whig 
sacrifices, and whig efforts held in 
higher esteem or more properly 
appreciated. The McDowells, 
McGinsies, Alexanders, and all 
the whigs of that neighborhood 
had witnessed, and still gratefully 
recollected, the timely succor and 
substantial aid rendered to them 
and their cause, in the hour of 
trial, by Sevier and his country- 
men. He was now a prisoner in 
their .midst, charged with the 
highest offence known to the 
laws; they knew him to be a pa- 
triot, in exile and distress; they 
felt for his sufferings, and sym- 
pathized in his fallen fortunes. 
These noble patriots of North 
Carolina, while sensible that the 
majesty of law had been offended, 
were yet unwilling that its pen- 
alty should be enforced, or that 
Sevier should be made its victim. 
They stood around the court 
yard in approving silence, wit- 
nessed and connived at the rescue, 
and discountenanced pursuit. 

* An account of the arrest and ro- 
mantic rescue of Sevier is given in 
Ramsey's Tennessee, page 425-429. 

The capture and brief expatria- 
tion of Sevier served only to 
awaken, in his behalf, the higher 
appreciation of his services and a 
deeper conviction of his claims to 
the esteem and consideration of 
his countrymen. His return was 
every where greeted with en- 
thusiasm and joy. 

The Assembly of North Caro- 
lina again extended the Act of 
pardon and oblivion to such of 
the Franklin revolters as chose to 
avail themselves of its provisions. 
But it was at the same time dis- 
tinctly provided " that the benefit 
of this Act shall not entitle John. 
Sevier to the enjoyment of any 
ofiice of profit, of honor, or trust 
in the State of North Carolina, 
but that he be expressly debarred 

An enactment of this kind may 
have been due to the supremacy 
of law. It was in exact conflict, 
however, with the wishes and 
voice and decision of the people. 
Public sentiment, even in high 
places, demanded its immediate 
repeal. Technically, Sevier was 
an insurgent. In all respects, 
however, he was a lover of his 
country, and had entitled him- 
self to its highest honors, and its 
richest rewards. His country- 
men could not spare him from 
their military service ; they would 
not refuse him employment in 
their civil affairs. At the August 
election of the next year, after 
the legislative infliction of these 
disabilities, the people of Greene 
county called upon Sevier to rep- 
resent them in the Senate of 
North Carolina. He was elected, 
it need not be added, without dif- 
ficulty. At the appointed time, 


The State of Franklin. 


Kovember 2, 1789, he attended, 
at Fayetteville, but waited a few 
days before he took his seat. Dur- 
ing this interval, the Assembly 
repealed the clause of the Act 
excluding him from holding office. 
Sevier then took his seat after the 
usual oath of allegiance to Korth 
Carolina was administered. Some 
days after. General Davie intro- 
duced a resolution, to enquire 
into the conduct of the Senator 
from Greene. It was well known 
that the proposition would not be 
favorably received, and to the 
great satisfaction of the mover 
the motion for enquiry was laid 
on the table. 

But the work of entire con- 
ciliation was not yet completed, 
on the part of North Carolina, 
and by the appointment of the 
Assembly, Sevier was reinstated 
in the command he had held be- 
fore the Franklin Kevolt, of 
Brigadier General for all the 
western counties, and laws were 
passed confirmatory of adminis- 
trations, granted by the Franklin 
courts, and legalizing marriages, 
celebrated under the authority of 
that government. The magna- 
nimity of the Assembly went fur- 
ther in providing for the wants, 
and promoting the interests of 
the western people. They laid 
oif a new Congressional District, 
embracing all her territory west 
of the Alleghanies, now consti- 
tuting the great State of Ten- 
nessee. From this District thus 
provided for his laudable ambi- 
tion, his invaluable services, and 
his great abilities, John Sevier 
was elected, and he is thus pro- 
bably the first member of Con- 
gress from the great valley of the 

Mississippi. " Wednesday, June 
16th, 1790, John Sevier, another ■ 
member from North Carolina, ■ 
appeared and took his seat."* 


This may be considered as the 
finale of Franklin. In speaking 
of it, in the preceding pages, 
terms have been used requiring 
qualification, which, without in- 
terrupting the current narrative, 
could not be elsewhere given. — 
Insurrection, revolt, dismember- 
ment, defection, as here used, 
need to be explained, when ap- 
plied either to those of the "West- 
ern people, who separated from 
the parent State, or those of them 
who afterwards renounced the 
new government. In either case, 
the action of the parties need not 
be ascribed to fickleness of pur- 
pose or bad faith, much less to 
disloyalty to their proj)er rulers, 
or insubordination to regular gov- 
ernment and law. In vindica- 
tion of those who once appeared 
on the side of Franklin and 
now appeared on the side of 
Korth Carolina, it has been 
well remarked by Haywood " that 
the face of affairs was quite 
different at the time of the 
Convention which resolved on In- 
dependence, and in the Autumn of 
1786. Before this juncture there 
was no governmental head, to 
which the people of the "Western 
counties could carry their com- 
plaints. In 1784, it is true, the 
assembly which passed the Ces- 
sion Act, retained the sovereignty 
and jurisdiction of North Caroli- 
na in and over the ceded territory, 

* Annals of Congress. Vol. 2, page 


The State of Franklin. 


and all the inhabitants thereof, 
until the United States, in Con- 
gress, should have accepted the 
Cession. Yet, in reality, so long 
as the Cession Act continued un- 
repealed, Korth Carolina felt her- 
self as much estranged from the 
inhabitants of the Western coun- 
ties, as she was from any other State 
or territory in the Union, until 
induced by the bonds of Federal- 
ism and a common interest, so far 
as concerned their external rela- 
tions with the other nations of the 
globe, but wholly unconnected, so 
far as regarded their internal reg- 
ulations and engagements. And 
as any one State was not obliged, 
by the nature of the Federal du- 
ties, to. advance monies, for the 
maintenance of another in the 
possession of her rights, but 
through the intervention of all in 
Congress assembled; so neither 
did Korth Carolina conceive her- 
self bound to exert her strength 
and resources for the defence of 
the Western counties, unless in 
the proportion for which she was 
liable to other Federal contribu- 
tions. It was in vain, then, to 
solicit her interference in behalf 
of the Western counties, so long 
as the Cession Act subsisted, but 
when that was repealed, and the 
precipitancy of the Western peo- 
ple obliterated, it cannot be a 
matter of surprise, that well mean- 
ing and intelligent people should, 
thenceforward, deem it their duty 
to return to their dependence on 
North Carolina. 

In behalf of those who sus- 
tained their separation from Korth 
Carolina until 1788, it may be 
further added, that in withdraw- 
ing from the parent State, and 

establishing a separate govern- 
ment, the secessionists believed 
that the course adopted by them, 
would, at least im2Jerfectly jyreserve 
quiet and order, under the cir- 
cumstances in which the Cession 
act had placed them. Their 
course was pacific and conserva- 
tive, and at first, united and har- 
monized all. Nothing destruct- 
ive or revolutionary, much less 
belligerent, was intended or con- 
templated. In 1784, the Con- 
federation had demonstrated the 
inadequacy of that organization, 
as a permanent system of General 
Government. The transfer, by 
North Carolina, of her western 
counties to Congress, at that time 
imbecile and powerless, even over 
the original Confederated States, 
and the novelty of the experi- 
ment, had produced alarm, ex- 
cited apprehension, and aroused 
a deep discontent in the new set- 
tlements. And, perhaps, these 
could have been quieted and ap- 
peased as effectually, in no other 
way, as the temporary assump- 
tion and exercise of the power of 
separate and distinct self-govern- 

Again. Heretofore, no instance 
had presented itself of the for- 
mation of an independent State 
from the territory embraced with- 
in the boundaries of a political 
sovereignty. The process of 
separation, and the mode of ac- 
complishing it, were all new and 
unattempted, alike by the people 
and the State and General Gov- 
erments. Now, when the crea- 
tion of these new political or- 
ganizations has become matter 
of frequent occurrence, and plain 
and easy by its successful trial 


The State of Frayililin. 


and repetition, little or no cause 
can be seen why the subject 
should then have been viewed as 
embarrassed with inherent diffi- 
culties. But let it be remember- 
ed that " in the Articles of Con- 
federation, no provision was made 
for the creation or admission of 
ISTew States. Canada was to be 
admitted of right, on her joining 
in the measures of the United 
States, and the other colonies^ at 
the discretion of nine States. 
The eventual establishment of 
new States, seems to have been 
entirely overlooked by the com- 
pilers of that instrument."^' The 
inconvenience of this omission, in 
the Articles of Confederation, was 
most apparent, and it may be 
well questioned whether the Con- 
gress of the Confederacy, could, 
without an assumption of power, 
have given to the people of the 
territory, ceded in 1784, a form of 
State government, such as was 
guaranteed to them by the pro- 
visions of the constitution of 
North Carolina. 

Under this view of the subject, 
it is not strange that the Cession 
Act was followed by dissatisfac- 
tion and revolt in the Western 
counties. Their people had been 
represented in the State Conven- 
tion of 1770, and it had been 
probably at the instance of their 
own delegates in that body, that 
the provision was then made for 
"the establishment of one or 
more governments westward of 
this State, by consent of the legis- 
lature." Indeed, it may be well 
questioned, whether with this 
provision of the Bill of Eights, 
preceding the Constitution itself, 

* Mr. Madison in the Federalist. 

the Act of Cession was not un- 
authorized and invalid. 

Be that as it may, the Cession 
of her Western territory by North 
Carolina to Congress, as it was, 
under the Articles of Confedera- 
tion in 1784, was obviously inex- 
pedient and impQlitic. And it 
was not till the adoption of the 
Federal Constitution in 1788, that 
this measure became either wise 
or practicable. This did not es- 
cape the discernment of the mal- 
content but virtuous and patriotic 
people of Franklin when the new 
State ceased to be and they re- 
turned to their allegiance to the 
mother State. This event was 
not unexpected by its most stead- 
fast friends and supporters, nor 
were its effects to be deplored. It 
resulted from no legislative error 
or want of executive skill, no 
fickleness of popular sentiment, 
no defect of public virtue. 

Every review of the conduct of 
both parties in the disaffected 
counties, from 1784 to 1788, re- 
flects honor upon their patriotism, 
their moderation, their love of 
order and their virtue. Ko other 
instance is recollected in which 
two antagonistic governments, ex- 
isted so long over th^; same peo- 
ple with so little anarchy, so little 
misrule, so little violence. A pe- 
riod of nearly four years was 
passed under two political sys- 
tems of government, each having 
its separate Executive, State 
Council, Legislature and Judici- 
ary, each its own county and 
military organizations, its own 
partizans and adherents. And 
amidst all the rivalry and conflict, 
personal and official, which must 
have arisen from this unexampled 


The State of Franklin. 


condition of things, the annalist 
of these early times, has recorded 
but two deaths, almost no blood- 
shed, and little violation of prop- 
erty. Private rights were held 
sacred and inviolable. If, in the 
collisions between the oflScers of 
the two governments, an occasion- 
al feat of pugilism did occur, re- 
sulting in a trifling mutilation of 
one or both of the combatants, 
there followed less of acrimony, 
unmanly revenge and pitiful spite, 
than is produced by the dis- 
reputable squabbles of the as- 
pirants and functionaries of the 
present day — members of the 
same government, and united 
under the same constitution and 
laws. In all that was done in 
Franklin, it is impossible to de- 
tect any tendency to radicalism. 
In their warmest aspirations for 
self-government and indepen- 
dence, there cannot be found one 
feature of modern agrarianism or 
the prostration of all law, but 
only a disposition to protect 
themselves from violence and ag- 
gression, and possible danger to 
their rights. This is no partial 
judgment. It is sustained by the 
testimony of competent tribunals, 
east and west of the Alleghanies. 
Their decisions may be briefly 

The formation of a new State 
was only a question as to time. 
In all the letters, manifestoes, 
and proclamations of the Gover- 
nor of the parent State, the sepa- 
ration is spoken of as not only 
right in itself, but desirable, and, 
at the proper time, expedient. 
So general was the sentiment, 
even in North Carolina, in favor 
of the separation, and so little in- 
YOL. Y.— NO. III. 

clination was there to prevent it by 
legislative interference, that the 
General Assembly, though con- 
vened by the proclamation of the 
Governor and Council, " failed to 
meet." Such was the decision of 
the people and authorities of 
ISTorth Carolina, east of the 
mountains, on the abstract ques- 
tion of a new State, west of it. 
The same opinion was entertain- 
ed by Dr. Franklin — by three of 
the Governors of Georgia, and by 
other statesmen. 

As to the time and mode of a 
measure of such magnitude, there 
could not be expected to be entire 
unanimity — there never is — there 
never will be. Those adopted in 
1784, at first, as has been seen, 
gave very general satisfaction, 
and harmonized the community 
most directly interested, as being 
the best time and manner of pro- 
viding the least objectionable 
measures to quiet the discontented 
and aggravated citizens of the 
ceded territory. "Was the Revolt 
of 1784 justifiable — was it wise — ■ 
was it patriotic— did it prevent 
greater evils — would a diflerent 
policy have secured greater good, 
or produced better results? may 
be questions of difficult solution. 
However these may be answered, 
the verdict of the contempora- 
ries of the Revolters has ever 
been in their favor, vindicating 
their patriotism and asserting the 
integrity of their motives. Those 
most active and determined and 
steadfast in the revolt, were, and 
never ceased to be, the greatest 
favorites of their countrymen 
everywhere. General public sen- 
timent is seldom wrong, it never 
condemns the innocent — it rarely 



The State of FranTclin. 


vindicates the guilty. "While it 
scorns the wilful ofl'ender, it ex- 
cuses or palliates unintentional 
error. It always sustains good 
intentions and wise purposes, and 
rewards the faithful public ser- 
vant. This was emphatically 
true of the Franklin leaders. 
"We have already mentioned the 
election of Sevier to Congress. 
So soon as the western counties 
became the " Territory of the 
United States, south of the Ohio," 
Sevier and his Captains be- 
came prominent among its offi- 
cers. The Territory becomes the 
State of Tennessee, and the Ex- 
Governor of Pranklin is at once 
called upon to become its Chief 
Magistrate, in which office the 
partiality of his countrymen con- 
tinued him for twelve years, when 
being no longer eligible, he is 
transferred again to Congress — is 
appointed to a distant service by 
President Madison, and while ab- 
sent on that duty, by the con- 
tinued confidence of his constitu- 
ents, is elected again to Congress, 
without opposition, and without 
his knowledge or consent. 

The associates of Gov. Sevier, 
in the Franklin Government, 
also received through life similar 
attestations of public regard and 
confidence. During the Terri- 
torial Government, and that of 
the State of Tennessee, they filled 
the highest offices, implying abili- 
ty, probity, efficiency and zeal in 
the public service and high per- 
sonal character. Pioneers of the 
State of Tennessee in all the 
varied phases of political or- 
ganization, through which her 
people passed, these evidences of 
trustworthiness, capacity, and 

patriotism were never withheld 
from them. They not only held 
offices of honor and trust, but dis- 
charged their duties to the entire 
satisfaction of the people and of 
the authorities of government. — 
Eevolters in 1784, they were nev- 
ertheless, the purest patriots and 
the best men of their day. It is 
singular and well worthy of re- 
mark, that not one of the master 
spirits of Franklin — perhaps not 
one of its officers, in a long life of 
usefulness and distinction after- 
ward, ever forfeited the esteem or 
lost the confidence of his country- 
men. A beautiful comment upon 
the purity of their principles and 
the loftiness of their love of coun- 
try — a fit tribute of respect for 
their public services and their 
private virtue. 

The subject is by no means ex- 
hausted. But this is not the place 
for extended comments ; and still 
the occasion is neither inoppor- 
tune, nor inappropriate, for a few 
closing remarks. 

The time at which the occur- 
rences, which have been narrated, 
took place, was emminently au- 
spicious for their pacific termina- 
tion. The two communities chief- 
ly concerned in the Eevolt of 1784, 
were then in their infancy, as self 
governing Associations. The con- 
sent of the governed was then ad- 
mitted to be the very genius of 
Kepublicanism — the essence of 
free government. As with indi- 
viduals, so also with political or- 
ganizations, '(/oui/i is the period of 
greatest innocence, purity and 
virtue. Age, in the latter es- 
pecially, produces rivalries, cor- 
ruption, venality, selfishness, fac- 
tion, ambition, discontent and 


The State of Franklin. 


crime. In those days of primi- 
tive simplicity, the great Christian 
rule of doing to others as we wish 
others to do to us, formed a prev- 
alent public sentiment, which had 
all the validity and force of law — 
affecting alike the rich and the 
poor, the enlightened and the ig- 
norant. To do justice and right 
was the law, to violate them was 
the exception, in the pure days of 
these infant Kepublics. Had the 
rulers of that early period — un- 
like Martin and Caswell — assumed 
the language of menace and the 
tone of authority and dictation, 
and issued their Pronunciamentos 
of defiance and revenge against 
the best men and patriots of any 
time and place; had they usurped 
a power unknown to the Consti- 
tution and laws of the land; had 
they fulminated their bitter anath- 
emas — full of reproach and cen- 
sure, and defamation and false- 
hood, denouncing them as out- 
laws and traitors "against the 
best government the world ever 
saw;" had they levied troops to 
enforce obedience at the point of 
the bayonet; had they marched 
them to the distant theatre of the 
Revolt and involved their remote 
countrymen in all the nameless 
atrocities of invasion, banishment, 
confiscation and disfranchisement; 
had they imposed penalties, for- 
feitures, and unusual oaths, upon 
a brave and patriotic people; had 
the rulers done all this, could the 
benign work of the Reconstruct- 
ion of 1788 have been consumma- 

Or had a low demagogue, or an 
upstart politician, from one of the 
revolted counties, ingloriously de- 
serting his former sentiments, and 

discarding his faithful constitu- 
ents, and allying himself with the 
enemies of his section, denounced 
in his seat in Fayetteville, the 
men who had confided to him 
their interests and had given him 
his present elevation ; had he de- 
nounced these as Rebels, and in- 
cited against them all the horrors 
of civil war; had he stood in his 
place and prated with Sophomoric 
wisdom and self-complacency, the 
weak sophistries and puerile tru- 
isms and the sublime virtues of 
the Coercive policy which he ad- 
vocated ; or had a weak and wick- 
ed colleague in the Lower House, 
joined him in the strange and un- 
natural opposition to the benig- 
nant policy of compromise and 
negotiation through a Peace Con- 
ference and thus urged an incau- 
tious and brave constituency into 
an internecine war — a war of tyr- 
anny, spoliation, oppression, sub- 
jugation; had all this been done, 
could the difficulties between 
ISTorth Carolina and Pranklin 
have ever been pacifically settled? 
Could the old State find a general 
so lost to all the pleasant chari- 
ities of life, so unmindful of the 
high and noble sentiments of the 
soldier and the gentleman, as to 
consent to become the instrument 
of the low revenges of his govern- 
ment against noncombatants, or 
of outrage and insult to unpro- 
tected woman? Such an officer 
could not have been found in 
Korth Carolina — thus to disgrace 
his epaulets and degrade the 
honorable profession of arms. — 
On the contrary. General Ruth- 
erford himself introduced in the 
Legislature of the State he had so 
efficiently served in war, the first 


The State of Franklin. 


Act for reconstruction and peace. 
The entire people of the State 
heartily sympathized in the same 
sentiment. The Legislature, when 
called by the governor to take 
into consideration the. State of 
public affairs "failed to meet". 
The statesman-patriot, Governor 
Caswell, even dissuaded from co- 
ercion and advised to " let things 
remain as they were." 

Such was the course pursued 
by North Carolina in quieting 
the rebellion. How was it in the 
disaffected counties amongst the 
Revolters themselves? The same 
moderation and forbearance char- 
acterized their conduct. No 
lawlessness, no radicalism, no dis- 
franchisement, little violence or 
tumult — no burglary — no incen- 
diarism, no invasion of private 
rights. The principal rebel. Gov. 
Sevier, consented to negotiate. 
Compromise quieted the insur- 
gents, and laid the foundation of 
a permanent pacification and re- 
construction. Both parties were 
sincere. It was easy to be so. 
Each was just, and intended to 
do justice to its rival. The paci- 
fication was perfect and complete. 
No lingering animosities were 
left to ulcerate the proud spirit of 
the respective partizans of the 
Old North State. There were no 
unmanly triumphs — there were 
no bitter reproaches. It is still 
diflScult even now to decide which 
was successful — or which the van- 
quished party. Each succeeded. 
North Carolina attained her 
primary object— the integrity of 
her government. Eranklin was 
not put down by force, and Sevlfer 
himself, at Philadelphia, officially 
witnessed the cession of the late 

revolted country, to the Federal 
Congress — its separation and its 
subsequent independence of North 
Carolina. The cradle of the in- 
fant Hercules he had watched 
over and protected. It soon after, 
under the same gallant chieftain, 
became the giant Tennessee. Each 
countryman of his, has already 
erected in his heart, a cenotaph 
to his memory. It is still a 
problem, which, most to admire, 
the magnanimity, forbearance,, 
moderation and wisdom of the 
parent State, or the manly self- 
reliance, enlarged patriotism, and 
filial piety of her daughter in the 
wilderness. In each of these 
communities their Solons and 
Aristides, were their leaders, and 
their rulers. Their WorJc^ is the 
highest eulogy upon the skill and 
virtue of the Eeconstructionists 
of 1788. 

Happily, as in the material 
creation, so, also, in political 
economy, the conservative is 
stronger than the destructive 

In the vegetable kingdom we 
see a branch of a tree rudely torn 
from its trunk. The spontaneous 
action of nature, unaided by man, 
reproduces the limb. The beauty 
and gracefulness of the tree is pre- 
served and no mutilation — scarce- 
ly a scar is left. A man is wound- 
ed, his surgeon pronounces the 
case incurable unless he ampu- 
tates or applies the actual cautery. 
Another surgeon, less incautious, 
perhaps more timid, dissuades 
from the more heroic treatment, 
makes use of cooling and emolient 
remedies — the wound heals by the 
first intention— the vis conserva- 
tive nature has restored the pa- 


The Soldier Son. 


tient. So in the body politic there 
are medicable wounds, often ren- 
dered incurable and deadly by the 
charlatanism of political empyrics 
and noisy demagogues. As in the 
one case the nimia diligentia med- 
icorum destroyed the patient, so 
the officious zeal of the unfledged 
politician in the other, often in- 
flicts an immedicable wound upon 
his country. It prescribes ampu- 
tation, caustics, irritants, and es- 
charotics. The country is ruined 
and her liberty destroyed. The 
refrigerant and soothing policy 
would have saved both. 

On this subject ancient Profane 
History has taught a lesson which 
this Christian Republic should 

study well. " When Latium, a 
Roman Province, revolted, and 
the revolt was suppressed, the 
question arose in the Roman Sen- 
ate, what shall be done with 
Latium and the people of Latium? 
There were some who cried, dis- 
franchise. Then others said, con- 
fiscate their property. There 
were none who said, subject them 
in vassalage to their slaves. 
But old Camillus, in that speech 
which revealed his true greatness, 
and made his name immortal, 
said, ' Senators! make them your 
fellow- citizens, and thus add to 
the power and glory of Rome.' " 



An old man sat on his door step low. 
Watching the shadows come and go, 
The shadows that were creeping fast. 
Over the roof on the trailing grass; 
And his heart grew sad with its own refrain, 
When he asked of it with inward pain, 
" Will my soldier son come back again? 

" He went away in the prime of life. 
In the vigor of youth he went to the strife ; 
Will my child the dreadful missiles spare? 
They'll pity sure my silvery hair; — 
Will I hear him whistle in the glen? 
Will I see him o'er the ripe sheaves bend? 
His face behold but once again?" 

230 The Soldier Son. [July, 

His good dame sat with her knitting by, 
"Watching the needles glance and fly; 
She tried to talk of happier days, 
And thus her husband's hopes to raise; 
But anon the tears come in her eyes, 
And the restless needles idle lie, 
For tho' she asks, there's no reply. 

She sees the tasseled ranks of corn. 

Without a martial drum or horn; 

Before her is the unreaped field, 

"With its bending wealth of golden yield; 

And the meadow, though in verdant dress. 

Seems to feel a loneliness, 

As if it too bore some distress. 

Soon the news comes from afar — 

News comes from the dreadful war. 

A desperate battle had been fought; 

A victory gained — by much blood bought. 

One side had failed— the other won; 

And the dead, alas! there was many a one, 

And 'mongst them was the old man's son. 

He hears the tale — but, lo, no tears 

Come to those eyes, so dimmed with years. 

The neighbors shake their heads and say, 

" I thought he'd take it in a difierent way," 

Then leave him in his grief alone, 

And pass out sadly one by one, — 

He heedeth not that they are gone. 

They come again — still in his chair 

The old man sits as unaware ; 

They take his hand, but drop their hold^ 

For stiff the fingers are and cold; 

His arms hang by his side like lead. 

And motionless his snowy head, 

"With pulseless brow — the old man's dead. 

The good dame looks from the window sill, 
On the lonely meadow lonelier still, 


Mary Ashburton. 


For unreaped grain still waves in the breeze, 
The birds still sing in the apple trees, 
But she heaves a sigh of secret pain, 
And the tears that she cares not to restrain 
Fall down her withered cheeks like rain. 




Thus passed the summer. The 
lonely, unloved bride was devoted 
entirely to his service; to antici- 
pate what I supposed might be 
his wishes; to consult his former 
tastes, to minister to his comfort 
in every way that I could ; to win 
him back to life by all the hum- 
ble means in my power; was my 
hourly study. It seemed to pro- 
duce no effect, — I do not think he 
even noticed my eflforts, for I, 
made them so unobtrusive that 
he, restless and wretched as he 
was, could not have known who 
was instrumental in this, without 
inquiry. He spent whole days 
away from home, wandering, I 
know not whither, and making 
me doubly anxious about him in 
the terrible possibilities my un- 
easiness suggested ; that he would 
be brought home a corpse or 
perish for want of food, in some 
unfrequented woods. 

He was always restless, his 
foot seemed never to weary of 
that constant motion. When at 
home, I could hear his steady 
tramp, tramp up and down his 

* Continued from page 135. 

room, ceasing for a few moments 
sometimes when his weary frame 
would sink upon a chair, to be 
resumed almost immediately 
when an agonizing reflection 
would cause him to start up and 
continue his restless movements. 

When I knew him to be out, I 
would venture in his room, ar- 
range a thousand little things 
that needed repairing, restore the 
ornaments to their pristine glory ; 
wipe the dust from the books and 
papers, carefully cleanse the 
statuettes, sometimes timidly open 
his drawers and search among 
their contents for rents and miss- 
ing buttons, very tremblingly, 
and in mortal dread of his sudden 
return, to find me among his 
secret treasures. When I grew 
bolder, I ventured upon various 
little improvements; — once a new 
dressing gown that my own hands 
had made, and placed it in his 
room, on his easy chair; then 
breathless with fright when he 
returned, lest he should notice it 
and wonder at the liberty I had 
taken; keeping out of his way 
from the dread of meeting his eye 


Mary Ashhurton, 


after my unprecedented boldness 
and longing, when I saw him 
coming, for time to rush up and 
seize it away before he could enter 
and see it there. I put it there 
several times before I had the 
courage to let it stay. I need not 
have troubled myself as to his 
discovery of my agency in it, for 
when I went up in his room after- 
wards, I found it thrown in a 
corner with some other things 
that had stood in his way as he 
walked to and fro across the 
floor. I picked it up with a sigh 
and just fixed it all over again. 

Then I embroidered him a new 
pair of slippers, seeing that his 
old ones were beginning to wear, 
and placed them conspicuously 
where he might see them. They 
were not even touched, remaining 
there day after day, unnoticed 
and unused. Disheartening as 
this was, I persevered ; it was the 
post I had assumed voluntarily, 
and as its fulfillment depended 
upon my own efforts, unaided but 
by Providence, I bowed beneath 
the burden and worked again, re- 
joicing that it was at least my 
privilege to work for him I loved, 
woman's highest honor and 
crowning glory. 

But father did not approve of 
this condition of affairs. He re- 
garded the neglect of his daugh- 
ter with resentment, and the neg- 
lect of his monetary affairs, also, 
a sort of breach of honor, being 
incapable, — poor father, — of con- 
sidering a mental trouble greater 
than the emptmess of purse. 

One evening he came through 
the fields wandering hither and 
thither, with an air of dissatis- 
faction, which was further ex- 

pressed upon his arrival at the 
house, where he scarcely returned 
my warm salutation with more 
than a frown of displeasure. 

" I don't like the way things is 
conducted, Mary," he said as he 
came in, "this is not what I in- 
tended doing with my money, to 
throw it away in this style. Why, 
it'll go to the dogs at this rate. — 
jSTo improvements; nothing doing 
but the little you can do 'round 
the house; all goin' to waste; my 
money gone, my security given 
for the rest. It'll ruin me as well 
as him. I can't stand it no long- 
er. I must speak to him." 

Father, don't." I had listened 
to this resolution in speechless 

"Don't?" my father broke forth, 
" What do you mean, you fool? 
Do you think that I'm goose 
enough to be goin to stand this? 
Never in the world. I can't see 
my hard earnings, that I got by 
the sweat of my brow, befoodled 
off in this style. We shall all go 
to the dogs together in no time. 
Where is he? I must and will 
speak to him about it, or him and 
me will have to part. Where is 
he? I'm a goin to him; you 
need'nt try to bamboozle me any 
longer. Don't say a word. I 
stay here till he comes in if he 
isn't. If he is, I go to him at 
once and have it out." 

"Father!" To my terror I heard 
Alfred in his room. He turned 
to me then. I had fallen in a 
chair and was wringing my hands 
in an agony of supplication. "Oh! 
oh! oh! what s/iaZZ I do?" 

"Whafsthe matter?" he an- 
swered crossly, compelled to pity 
in spite of himself. 


Mary Ashhurton, 


" Just hear me for one moment. 
Tou will kill me if you persist in 

"People are not so easily kill- 
ed," he muttered. 

"But just stop one moment, 
father. I love Mr. Chauncey," — 
the acknowledgement which had 
never been made aloud before, 
was wrung from me at last by 
circumstances — " better than any- 
thing in the world." 

He eyed me with an expression 
indicative of so little abatement 
of his resentment, that I was com- 
pelled to throw off my reserve 
once more. 

"If I had not loved him, I 
should never have married him." 

"Queer," he muttered, "to 
love a chap that takes no more 
noticfe of you than an old shoe, 
better than us who have shelter- 
ed and cared for you all your 

" Dear father, I cannot help it. 
I love you and mother, but then 
it's so different. I married Mr. 
Chauncey for love, nothing else. 
You know he loved another lady; 
he can't help that. I want to 
win him from it, and am trying 
by all in my power. If you talk 
to him this way, you'll drive him 
from me forever, and only seal 
my misery, indeed you will. Oh! 
please let him alone now. Let's 
see together what can be done. 
Mr. Chauncey says I can do 
what I please. Then let us, you 
and I, manage together. You 
direct me, and I'll show the ser- 
vants what to do." 

" What are you going to do 
with Mm then," father asked 
contemptuously, "put him in a 

'sylum for mad people, for I think 
he's mad if no one ever was." 

" He does not care now, father. 
Please don't speak of him, or say 
anything about him. Let's carry 
out our plans and we'll get along, 
never fear, dear father, won't 
you? Your money shan't be 
thrown away, I promise you." 

He eyed me again, then soften- 
ed the hard lines about his face a 
little. "Well, well, we'll see 
about it, but I've no notion, let me 
tell you, of losing my money." 

" We won't lose it, father, can't 
you cultivate some of the fields 
with your own?" 

" If Chauncey don't object, 
I'll see " 

" He will not object. " 

" Then perhaps I can manage 
it, upon a stress. I have much 
to do already." 

"Indeed you have, dear father." 

" And I don't feel as much like 
work now as in my younger 

" Yes, but you'll have so many 
more servants." 

"True, though they make the 
work too. But I'll undertake 
it for the present. I'll do it for 
your sake anyhow." 

I threw my arms around his 
neck and kissed him, which un- 
usual demonstration affected him 
more than he wished me to see, 
putting me from him with a — 

"Well, that'll do, child. I 
promise to do what I can." 

And he did. With our com- 
bined management the G-rove 
blossomed soon almost as of yore. 
I journeyed busily around the 
farm, renewing the fences, hav- 
ing caps put on the posts where 
the cattle could remove the rails 


Mary Ashburton. 


and jump in the fields, seeing that 
breaches in the out-houses were 
nailed up, while father overlooked 
the agricultural department and 
saw that the servants did their 
work properly. The wheat had 
not been attended to, so there 
was little to expect from harvest, 
but for next fall we discussed our 
arrangements in a most business 
like manner. I waged destruct- 
ive war with the enemies of the 
poultry yard, when the servants 
informed me that much of the 
young brood had disappeared 
mysteriously, though the elders 
of the flock paraded about the 
premises with their wonted dig- 
nity. Proper attention paid to 
the condition of their houses and 
yard, soon remedied that, and — 
shall I confess it? — before the 
summer was over, a trusty mes- 
senger seated in a wagon well 
loaded with baskets of protesting 
feathered creatures, conveyed 
them to market, whence he re- 
turned with a goodly result, 
which I received with a pleasure 
that the lovers of romance and 
sentiment would have scoffed at. 
But it was so much towards re- 
deeming my loved one's patrimo- 
ny, and was carefully laid aside 
till the addition of similar sums 
should make it something of im- 

Then there was the dairy — my 
only source of pleasure. This 
was not like that at home, being 
larger and had once been most 
elegantly arranged; but from 
careless usage since Mrs. Chaun- 
cey's death, was now much 
out of repair. The well sweep 
behind it was broken, and the 
stone trough through which the 

water had been wont to flow 
around its semi-circular floor, had 
been removed for some purpose — 
I believe to water the horses — 
while the poultry roosted imme- 
diately around it to the destruc- 
tion of all cleanliness. 

In a short time the sweep was 
mended, the trough replaced by a 
temporary wooden one, the fowls 
driven away and new lattice- 
work erected by which they were 
securely kept at a distance, while 
the richest, most golden of butter 
was turned out from it in such 
quantities that the proceeds were 
soon laid beside that from the 
poultry yard. 

How eagerly I hoped for the time 
when I could show a sum of such 
importance that it might go far 
towards disburdening the estate, 
and freeing it from the claims of 
importunate creditors. 

Letters came from old Mr. 
Chauncey to father and my- 
self — I never saw his to Al- 
fred, of course— bidding us let 
a portion of the land go to- 
wards satisfying the claims upon 
the estate. The farm consisted of 
twelve hundred acres, one-third 
of which had been purchased in 
my name, so that four hundred 
were in reality all we owned. It 
grieved me to see any portion of 
what had belonged to them for 
generations, the land that their 
titled ancestors had bought when 
they first came and settled in this 
country, go into the hands of 
strangers; yet I knew that, work 
as I might, it would take years, 
a lifetime to reclaim it all, so it 
had better go. It cannot bring 
happiness, the possession of all the 
land on the earth, I sighed; so it 


Mary Ashhurton. 


was done as Mr. Chauncey had 
bidden, Alfred merely saying 
when he was referred to, " Let it 
be as my father desires. It is 
all alike to me." It took a 
load from my shoulders, for I 
could more easily manage now 
that the size of the farm was so 
much reduced. 

Outwardly, affairs looked more 
prosperous than when I went 
there; the grounds around the 
house neat and orderly, the house 
itself freshened and renewed, no 
longer with shutters slamming on 
broken hinges, the wind and rain 
beating through shivered panes. 
But though I worked on, my 
hands were often numbed, a faint- 
ness stole over me, while a quick 
pain ■ shot through my aching 
heart, as the conviction would 
flash upon me with sudden force 
that I was as far as ever from my 
goal, that these efforts brought 
me no nearer to him, I was as un- 
loved, as unheeded as ever. In- 
deed I saw less of him ; for the 
native kindness that had not en- 
tirely deserted him upon my first 
arrival, had led him to attempt 
the courteousness he would show 
to a stranger; but after a while I 
seldom met him even at meal 
time, inclining his head gravely 
when we met, but seldom speak- 

Oh! how I longed for a word of 
some kind from him ; even anger 
would have been preferable to 
this steady indifterence. "With 
it all too he was so exceedingly 
handsome, even thin and worn as 
he now was. I toiled for him 
when absent and trembled ner- 
vously when he was present, the 
poor, shy country girl that he 

must look upon with scorn, still 
loving him passionately, yet ex- 
tremely in awe of him. 

Mr. Chauncey wrote to me sev- 
eral times such kind, fatherly let- 
ters, full of anxious inquiries about 
his son, and with delicate hesi- 
tancy entreated me to care for 
him, now that there was no one 

Useless admonition! I smiled 
bitterly over the letter, thinking 
of my work— its forlorn results. 
He that I was to care for seldom 
ever looked at me. But — I si- 
lenced my heart's pleadings — 
what could you expect? You 
haye what you humbly prayed 
for. Be content and forget thy 
poor self. What is there in you 
to replace what he has lost? Do 
thy task patiently still unto the 
last. He needs thee without know- 
ing it, and some time may thank 
thee at least. 

I had no visitors. Once or 
twice an old acquaintance ven- 
tured to see me, but though I 
treated them kindly, they did not 
seem to find the atmosphere of the 
Grove congenial and did not come 
again. Of all the Chauncey 
friends, but one benevolent lady, 
who lived nine miles from us, 
called to see me during that first 
summer. I was glad that even 
curiosity did not subject me to an 
intrusion I should have been ob- 
liged to sustain alone, our affairs 
a prey to vulgar remark, his ab- 
sence noted and inquired into. — 
My own old acquaintances I had 
kept at a distance— not from 
pride, but to save myself so much 
annoyance from their questions; 
while the few in the country that 
the Chaunceys had visited hardly 


Mary Ashhurton. 


regarded it as worth their while 
to call there, now that such gloom 
prevailed at the old place, the own- 
er ruined, and his promising heir 
united to a common country girl. 
So my days were spent busily and 
quietly, my evenings in a resort 
to the extensive library that form- 
ed my great recreation when the 
work of the day was over. There 
I had my choice of all I desired in 
literature, and a great intellectual 
feast it was, enriching my mind at 
a time when my heart was starv- 
ing for afiection. 

So passed the summer; the au- 
tumn came on, when one day it 
happened — oh! I shall never for- 
get the bitter humiliation of that 
'day! — that a party of fox-hunting 
gentlemen, who had been in the 
habit of dining at the Grove once 
•a year, to be joined afterwards by 
the proprietor and his guests, 
came down from a neighboring 
county, and, as usual, directed 
their course to their old hospita- 
ble place of entertainment. 

I heard the shrill whistle of the 
bugle, the trampling of the many 
horses' feet, and looking from an 
upper window, near which I stood 
at the time, saw a company of 
twenty gentlemen with dogs herd- 
ing around them, advancing up 
the avenue. 

I called Melissa to know whence 
they came. She told me that it 
was an established habit of her 
old master's friends. 

"They is perfect gentlemen," 
she said, "and mistress alwaj^s 
entertained 'em herself." 

I wondered in my heart what 
Alfred, who fled the face of man, 
would do at this juncture. He 
was in his room, had returned 

pale and exhausted the evening 
before, and I had seen him but for 
a moment. 

"Will he meet them, do you 
think?" I asked of the old wo- 

" I dunno how he can get out 
of it, madam, they're here, and 
see him too, ketched him down 
there arter all." 

They had made much noise be- 
fore the door, as no sign of a mas- 
ter appeared about the premises. 
They asked the servant, who 
went to the door, if the gentlemen 
were at home. He answered that 
his old master was away, and 
that his young master — here he 
muttered something confusedly. 

" Stand aside, Tom," called out 
an authoritative voice, and as the 
startled servant turned around, 
Alfred stood there to welcome, 
with his cold, calm dignity, his 
father's friends. 

The clanging of the horses' 
feet ceased, and the trampling of 
the dogs, as their bark echoed 
from the distant stable yard, in- 
dicated that they were disposed of 
as usual. 

There were many voices below 
stairs, and mindful of my duties, 
I descended by a private stairway 
to the kitchen to make prepara- 
tion for a suitable entertainment, 
determining to be equal in this 
respect at least to their former 

"Mars Alfred says, madam, 
would you like to come in the 
parlor?" asked Tom, appearing 
at the door of the pantry when I 
was surrounded with various dish- 
es, the contents of which I was 
arranging for the cook. Appear 
before those strangers in my nom- 


Mary AshBurton. 


inal character of the young wife 
and mistress? How could I? and 
yet how could I do otherwise than 
appear? how account to them for 
my absence? Then Alfred had 
not forgotten me. I understood 
his message to mean, the lady of 
the house should appear before 
the guests that his mother had 
been wont to entertain so ele- 

" But she had ladies with her," 
I said, doubtfully. 

"No, madam, not always," re- 
plied Melissa, who was helping 
me. " Since they were first rate 
gentlemen, she did not care for 
that, and always sat at the head 
of the table." 

How bitterly I felt my anoma- 
lous position, which I feared 
would be only too obvious to 
them, that the eyes of strangers 
could not fail to notice the differ- 
ence between me and a loved and 
honored wife. To my shame it 
would be plain to perceive, that 
neither of us was happy, that 
there was no affection for me 
upon his side, and, without any 
previous knowledge of the cir- 
cumstances, would draw their 
own inferences very derogatory 
to one or both of us. I wonder- 
ed at his message, situated as we 
were, with respect to one another, 
that he would think of my ap- 
pearance, neglected as I had been, 
before strangers. But he did not 
know, he meant it differently, his 
feeling was not like mine, and 
most probably he intended to 
show me that — that he was but 
treating me as he would any 
other lady. He so little regarded 
me as connected with him in any 
way, that he failed to perceive 

others would not think thus ; then 
he did not know me, having the 
poorest opinion of me, I knew, 
for accepting such an offer as was 
made when I permitted myself to 
be led to the altar. 

I had to go over a retrospect of 
the past to nerve me up to the 
effort, before I could venture upon 
exposure by going down, feeling 
it as keenly as I did. 

When the dinner bell sounded, 
I timidly took my post and stood 
at the head of the table, awaiting 
their entrance. It sounded like a 
vast throng as they came in, 
Alfred preceding them to perform 
the necessary introduction. 

"Mrs. Chauncey," he said 
briefly and coolly, while I was 
too much embarrassed to be 
startled at his first recognition of 
my right to that appellation; bow- 
ing my drooping head, as Melissa 
told me one of the gentlemen said, 
like a lily on a stalk, and blushing 
as I felt I did, to welcome my — my 
husband's friends. They bowed 
in return, and I had to run the 
gauntlet of many pairs of eyes as 
they took their places. Several 
of the older gentlemen came up 
and courteously took my hand. 

" Most fortunate has the son of 
my old friend been," said one, an 
elderly gentleman of the "old 
school." " Alfred, I congratulate 

" And I, and I also," exclaim- 
ed two or three others. 

The blood that stained my face 
now was painful in its heat. I 
glanced at Alfred. To their con- 
gratulations he uttered not one 
word; he could not dissemble, 
nor would he stoop to such hy- 
pocrisy, and with an air of un- 


Mary Ashburton. 


easiness he attempted to draw 
their thoughts in another chan- 
nel. Persistently they rallied, as 
they thought, the bashful young 
husband, and were unmerciful in 
their jesting. My head sank 
lower and lower, till I wished 
that the floor would open and 
swallow me. 

"Why, would you believe it, 
madam," exclaimed a young man 
with a bold, rakish looking coun- 
tenance, " that this Alfred has 
actually become so domesticated, 
so wedded to his home, we can- 
not draw him away from it? He 
never leaves it for his old friends, 
and has become the most sedate 
married man I know. Not even 
will he come to visit me, who used 
to get him out of all sorts of col- 
lege scrapes. Ungrateful, is he 

"More probably he got you 
out," returned one of the gentle- 
ment, laughing, "you were bad 
enough to get yourself into trouble 
as well as your friends." 

"That's the way with these 
married men," replied the first, 
with a shrug of his shoulders, 
"get very virtuous, put on a long 
face, and eschew their early com- 
panions. Alf, I thought, would 
have better taste. Mrs. Chaun- 
cey, I am sure, would not wish to 
exert an influence so deleterious 
to his old chums and associates." 
Glancing at Alfred, I perceived 
that he could scarcely control 
himself. An angry red spot burn- 
ed on his forehead, and his com- 
pressed lips might have shown 
them, that they were treading 
upon dangerous ground. With 
kindly meant badinage a facetious 
old gentleman continued it, with- 

out noticing the effect of his 
words. But I discerned, or felt 
rather than saw, that several of 
the guests were watching us with 
curious eyes, and looking from 
Alfred to myself with amazement; 
then interchanging meaning glan- 

My position was becoming un- 
bearable ; it was as if I were seat- 
ed on red hot coals, and I thought 
that the dinner never would be 

After a while, to the intense re- 
lief of both, the jesting ceased; 
it had become evident to every 
one that it was painful, to their 
host particularly, and embarrass- 
ing to me. The gentlemen seated 
near addressed to me several re- 
marks, and as the one on my right 
was quite pleasant and intelligent, 
I became interested in his con- 
versation, at times almost forget- 
ting my painful position while lis- 
tening to his amusing anecdotes; 
like lulls in a violent attack of 
pain, that steep suffering for a 
moment in forgetfulness — alas ! 
only to be reawakened afterwards 
by the shock and thrill of its re- 

Seeing me disposed to conver- 
sation, the wild young man I have 
spoken of, who was seated at my 
left hand, attempted to make him- 
self agreeable, or rather tried how 
disagreeable he could be to me. 

Eyeing Alfred curiously and 
keenly, he appeared satisfied with 
the inference he drew from his 
survey, and turned to me with 
more familiarity than he would 
have done to an accepted Mrs. 
Chauncey. Putting his imperti- 
nent face nearer mine, he said 


Mary Ashburton. 


"You must find it quite lone 
fiome here for so young a lady." 

I murmured some reply, I 
scarce know what, about having 
always lived in the country and 
being used to it. 

" Chauncey has no business to 
bury you here in this way. I 
shall remonstrate with him." 

"No— ohIno!"I exclaimed in 
my simplicity, believing his threat 
to be a real one, instead of a de- 
vice to draw me out. 

"Why not?" he asked, fixing 
his bold eyes on my face. 

"Because I love this place and 
desire no other, nor want to go 
anywhere else." 

"Yes, but that delight of trav- 
eling together to two young mar- 
ried people, as I imagine — unfor- 
tunately I am a bachelor myself, 
though the sight of my friend's 
happiness makes me quite envi- 
ous and disposed to follow his ex- 
ample. Happiness," he repeated, 
bending nearer, "in securing 

My eyes drooped beneath his, 
and a burning indignation fired 
my heart at the liberty he was 
taking; a liberty he presumed to 
take with one whom he plainly 
saw was unprotected; while I 
felt all the more severely that I 
had no husband, as they believed 
Alfred to be, to resent his imper- 

" He guards you too exclusive- 
ly," pursued my tormentor, re- 
lentlessly. " He ought to permit 
his friends to have the pleasure of 
your society also. I, at least, 
shall claim the privilege. When 
I heard of his marriage, I had no 
idea of the sweet, delicate lily he 

was hiding from us in his lone- 
some country place." 

What could I do or say to rid 
myself of his impudent familiar- 
ity? But when he said, 

" You will permit me to come, 
regardless of the jealous Chaun- 
cey," drawing still closer and 
whispering in a tone that was un- 
mistakably improper, indicating 
plainly that his design was to see 
how far he could go, I raised my 
eyes with a look that sent his 
head back farther than it had 
been before, and kept himself at a 
distance that he fully understood 
I wished him to remain. 

" What's the matter, Thomas?" 
asked a gentleman who had ob- 
served the whole, as I could 
perceive by the expression of his 
eye. " You look crestfallen. " 

" I was merely reflecting, sir," 
replied Thomas, curling his lip, 
" upon the ways of the world gen- 
erally, and the affairs of my 
friends in particular." 

" A most exemplary state of 
mind," remarked the gentleman, 
sarcastically, " I hope it produces 
suitable amendment should you 
cast your eyes within." 

" It teaches me, sir," retorted 
Thomas, with flashing eyes, " to 
profit in many things by ex- 

" Yet more exemplary. A fine 
result of self-culture, is he not, 
Mrs. Chauncey?" 

" However that may be, I think 
we stand upon equal ground, 
which 1 will soon take occasion 
to show you," exclaimed Thomas, 
compressing his lips with re- 
strained passion, while his eyes 
looked venom at his cool tor- 


Mary Asliburton. 


Here the old gentleman I have 
spoken of thought it time to in- 

" Come, Thomas, come Grif- 
feths," he said softly, " remem- 
ber where you are," and he look- 
ed at me. 

They both glanced towards me, 
then as the teasing gentleman 
ceased his unpleasant style of con- 
versation, out of consideration — I 
suppose — for me, peace was re- 
stored, apparently, and the gene- 
ral conversation was resumed. 

All this had been unperceived 
by Alfred, who was engaged with 
those immediately around him, 
and was too distant to hear what 
had been spoken in a low tone on 
both sides, so he knew nothing of 
this little incident. 

I left them after dinner, and 
went about my household duties, 
as usual, trying to lull in constant 
activity that gnawing pain at my 

Late in the afternoon, I was 
told that the gentlemen wished to 
bid me adieu, as they were about 
to depart. I went in the drawing- 
room where but two or three re- 
mained, the rest having gone to 
the porch or dispersed about the 

" Good bye, dear madam," said 
the gentleman of the old regime, 
taking my hand and pressing it 
to his lips, " may your life be a 
long and happy one." 

Something choked my throat, 
but with a strong effort I forced 
back the tears that were rushing 
to my eyes. I was afraid that he 
perceived my emotion, for he 
turned away as if from motives of 
delicacy, while another approach- 
ed to bid his adieu. 

Others came in for the same 
purpose. Alfred was out there 
with them and did not approach 
the parlor while I was in it. I 
did not see young Thomas again, 
but as he left I heard him say to 

"Good bye, Chauncey; you 
need'nt be so devoted to your 
wife that you can't come and see 
a fellow. There's time enough 
yet for the honeymoon to wear 

Alfred gave a fierce stamp of 
his foot. " No more of this," he 
said passionately, "I cannot 
stand it." 

All else was drowned in the 
noise they made as they rode off 
with their dogs and horses, leav- 
ing but the echo of their presence 
as their horns mellowed in the 
distance. Alfred immediately 
disappeared, having positively de- 
clined their urgent invitation to 
join the party, as had been his 
wont in time gone by. 

I felt more desolate than ever, 
and my lonely, neglected state be- 
came vivid as it had never been 
before. Hitherto my love for • 
him had fed my heart with living 
fire, and the pleasure of being 
near him, of having the oppor- 
tunity, if not the power, to soothe 
him in trouble, had sustained me. 
Now there was a reaction. I had 
miscalculated my strength, and 
began to need love In return. 
Must I go on thus, — I asked des- 
pairingly, — working for him, day 
after day, and yet to have noth- 
ing but polished coldness in re- 

I saw but little of home. My 
mother was absorbed in my old 
duties as well as her own. Though 


Cicero's Oration for Marcellus. 


she kept a seamstress now to help 
her, yet " it is not like you, Mary, 
for all your poetry and senti- 
ment," she said aft'ectionately to 

And I — oh! I could not bear to 
leave him when he was at home, 
and when absent, my wearying 
anxiety for him must be borne 

I could not visit my home in 
the state of mind I then was. — ■ 
Mother questioned me about this 
— her parental interest at times 
overcoming the reserve I had en- 
deavored to establish between us 
on the subject— and tried to learn 
from me the state of affairs be- 
tween my nominal husband and 
myself. I could tell her nothing, 
and quickly showed her with all 
the respect due to my mother, 
that about him my reticence must 
remain unbroken. 

So passed the days as I lived my 
lonely life there in busy cares for 
him, a book my sole recreation 
when there was nothing more I 
could do and my self-appointed 
tasks were completed. My forte, 
however, was in working, not 
reading. With that restless mis- 
ery gnawing at the heart, I could 
fix my mind upon mental enjoy- 
ment but rarely. Apparently so 
near, we were separated in re- 
ality by thousands of miles, for I 
grew no nearer to him. So wrapt 
was he in his own gloomy 
thoughts when iu my presence, or 
merely polite with a coldly finish- 
ed polish, that I could not thaw 
that icy surface; the same awe 
yet sealed my lips and made me 
appear so ignorant and awkward 
when he was by. How long? how 
long? I sighed. 

(to be continued.) 


One may be excused for turn- 
ing to Ancient Literature. It is 
allowable to be lotus-eaters when 
we can neither bear, nor amend 
the present. 

This oration has, by some ad- 
mirers of Cicero, been, as we 
think, over-praised, while by 
others it has been set down as 
spurious. We may consider the 
question of its genuineness settled 
by the weight of critical authori- 
ty. The internal evidence might, 
of itself, satisfy us. The art, the 
elegance, the dexterity, the co- 
piousness, the swell, the orna- 
VOI-. V. NO. III. 

ment, the egotism of the great 
Arpinian are all here; nor are 
there wanting some of the loftier 
notes of patriotism and high 
philosophy that sound so grand 
in the Philippics, or so elevate us 
as we listen to the defence of 
Archias. On the other hand, it 
cannot be classed with the best of 
his speeches. It was in fact an 
impromptu performance, though 
he afterwards wrote it out care- 
fully. The fatal defect in it is 
the narrowness of the subject. 
It is a panegyric, and to praise a 
fellow-man can never give sufii-. 



Clcero^s Oration for Marcellus. 


cient scope to genius. A very 
great man, however, was lie who 
was the subject of this praise. 
Ceesar had a great brain, a great 
heart, and very wide views — great 
faults too, unquestionably, the 
greatest being ambition. Cicero 
says in his oration, that the act 
for which he was there lauding 
him, was the greatest of his life, 
and gives several fantastic reasons 
to prove it. This was not true. 
Coesar did not think so, nor did 
Cicero, nor does anybody else. His 
act was magnanimous, but not so 
magnanimous as the conquest of 
Gaul, or the battle of Pharsalia. 
Marcellus, as consul, had been 
from the first a violent partisan of 
Pompey, and was in arms against 
Csesar , at Pharsalia. Justly sup- 
posing that his conduct had com- 
promised him too deeply to allow 
any expectation of reconciliation, 
he had retired into voluntary ex- 
ile at Mytelene. Ctesar allowed 
him to remain unmolested in his 
chosen retreat. After some time 
his friends, at Eome, exerted 
themselves to procure his return, 
and in a full assembly of the 
Senate, a near kinsman of his, 
supported by all the Senators, 
implored Ctesar to recall him. 
Ctesar at first assumed severity, 
and complained of the resentment 
that Marcellus had ever mani- 
fested towards him, but concluded 
by saying that he would not op- 
pose the desire of the Senate, and 
declared Marcellus to be forgiven 
and restored to all his honors. 
This was a very handsome act on 
the part of an old heathen, with 
wolf blood in him, living in 
Ptome fifty years, and more, be- 
fore Christ. 

Hardly in Washington, in the 
middle of the 19th century, do 
we find, after the close of a revo- 
lution, a more christian spirit 
animating the bosom of our own 
statesmen. Cajsar had not read 
the text, ' ' I say unto you, love 
your enemies," nor the commen- 
tary on it, "if thy brother ofiend 
against thee seventy times seven, 
thou shalt forgive him," nor had 
he learned at his mother's knee, 
nor had he repeated many a time 
in church the petition of the 
Lord's prayer, "Forgive us our 
trespasses as we forgive those who 
trespass against us." Kor had 
his ancestors come over in the 
Mayflower, nor landed at Plym- 
outh, nor burned witches, nor 
enjoyed the benefits of the Com- 
mon School System, nor belonged 
to Temperance and Abolition So- 
cieties, nor caught the spirit of 
Progress, nor learned the philoso- 
phy of Humanitarianism. In- 
deed he had not enjoyed any such 
special religious advantage as 
would justify him in saying, 
" Stand by thyself, I am holier 
than thou." It would be hasty 
to infer any thing about the 
christian character of Ceesar, be- 
cause he manifested a spirit which, 
as is well known, is a character- 
istic of Christians in modern days. 
His magnanimity was due, I am 
inclined to believe, not to the fact 
that he was a great ante-dated 
Christian, but because he was a 
great man. Qreat brains and 
great souls were capable of acts 
of magnanimity, even as far back 
as 2000 years ago. Little minded 
men may be Senators and other 
functionaries, but magnanimous 
they cannot be — to ofier no other 


Cicero's Oration for Marcellus. 


reason — there is a philosophical 
impossibility in the way. 

Another faculty for magnanimi- 
ty possessed by Cffisar, was brave- 
ry. " Brave as Julius Cresar" 
has long been a comparison used 
by people of dull imagination, 
just as "tricky as Grant" will 
hereafter serve the same class of 
speakers and writers. Men who 
are not brave, cannot be magnan- 
imous; in fact they are styled pu- 
sillanimous. Kor can men be- 
have by force of will. It is re- 
corded in history that there was 
once a man that could not help 
being afraid of buck shot, and of 
another, who upon a certain occa- 
sion exhibited as much terror at 
the sight of a cane, as if he had 
been an immediate descendant of 
the martyred Abel. 

Csesar, however, was brave, and 
so when the idea was suggested 
that he might be in danger from 
these former enemies whom he 
was so freely pardoning, he put it 
down by saying, " Satis diu vel 
naturcB vixi vel glorice.''^ This, 
though Cicero does style it prce- 
clarissimam et sapientissimam vo- 
cem — sounds a little boastful, but 
Cassar was accustomed to let off 
from time to time these Brobdig- 
nag epigrams, some of them have 
imposed themselves as sublime up- 
on astonished critics — witness the 
famous veni vidi vici, and " Q,md 
times? Ccesarem veins. ''^ Other 
great Captains have had the same 
tendency — Alexander, Bonaparte , 
<fcc. — A. B. C. I have no doubt 
that, with a little thought, I 
could, if I had time , illustrate the 
whole alphabet in this way. The 
letter P illustrates itself without a 
thought. Pope — not the Holy 

Father, nor the Poet of Twicken- 
ham, but the hero who kept his 
quarters (he modestly called them 
head quarters) in the saddle, and 
wrote his dispatches, some of the 
later ones at least, currente cala- 
mo — with a running pen. 

It would not do to require that 
all men should come up to the im- 
perial standard. If every man is 
to be persecuted till his persecutor 
can truly say — " Satis diu vel 
natures vixi vel glorice,'^ we fear cru- 
elty would not soon come to an 
end. What American statesman , 
for example, (we regret that our 
limited knowledge of history so 
restricts our illustrations) would 
be inclined to say " I have lived 
long enough for myself," (so Ci- 
cero interprets the word naturce.) 
It is the general opinion that 
many of them have lived quite 
too long for other people , but for 
themselves they would hold on to 
life, as a distinguished Secretary 
does to his office, per fas aut nefas. 
And as to having lived long 
enough for glory! If life is to be 
prolonged for them to this period , 
the final cataclysm will come 
upon them, still living, and still 
filled with bitterness. 

That we may not give undue 
pj-aise to Ctesar, it must be re- 
membered that he was well es- 
tablished in power. Pompey was 
dead and buried, except his head, 
which had been cut off and burn- 
ed, and the after campaign in 
Africa had settled the expiring 
struggles of the party under Cato 
and the other leaders. Had it 
been otherwise — had he known 
that in a few months, say the i^o- 
vember following, the battle of 
Pharsalia was to be fought, the 


Cicero's Oration for Ilarcellus, 


condition of it being to him, as 
Cicero says in his oration for Li- 
garius, victory or ruin — and had 
the result of the African affair 
been still doubtful, Csesar's ex- 
ample and Cicero's eloquence 
might have been lost to the world. 
It is quite fine to observe how 
skillfully Cicero appeals at 
once to Cfesar's sense of duty 
and his love of praise. Towards 
the conclusion of the oration he 
says: " Upon you alone, Caesar, 
depends the restoration of all 
things which you see in ruins 
around you, wrecked by the 
storm of war. Law must be set 
up again, public faith restored, 
licentiousness restrained, industry 
encouraged, and the wild reckless- 
ness of the times checked by 
wholesome laws. In a civil war 
so great, in the fury of feeling 
and the clash of arms, the loss by 
the Republic, whatever might be 
the issue of the contest, of many 
things which contributed to its 
glory and its stability, was un- 
avoidable, and each side did in the 
heat of the conflict, what in peace 
it would have been the first to 
condemn. Now all these deep 
wounds are to be healed, and you 
only have the power to do it." — 
When we read this passage, how 
thankful should we be that, after 
a struggle not dissimilar, our con- 
dition is so different from that de- 
picted by the orator who was at 
the same time a profound states- 
man, and accurately acquainted 
with the condition of the Repub- 
lic. That the prosperity of our 
land has nowhere been affected, 
that law reigns supreme — and 
that its tribunals, from the Pie- 
poudre courts to the Supreme 

Court of the United States have 
never been assailed by a triumph- 
ant faction — that public faith is 
not suspected, and that public 
and private morals are pure be- 
yond any period of the world's- 
history, while the humanizing in- 
fluence of Christianity sways in 
all places, from the smallest ham- 
let to the Capital of the nation — 
that the Constitution of the Uni- 
ted States was so strong that it 
resisted every shock of arms— and 
that the Republican form of Gov- 
ernment in America has been 
found to be so perfect a machine 
that the management of it can^ 
with the utmost safety, be en- 
trusted to emancipated blacks. 
And further, that the Supreme 
Legislature of the land has no 
need of a hint from a Cicero, liv- 
ing or dead, as to its duty, seeing 
that its whole energies are devot- 
ed to the grateful task of causing 
all traces of exasperated feeling 
to disappear. " O fortunatos mini- 
um sua si bona norinf'' 

Ccesar was willing, doubtless, to 
do his duty cceteris paribus, but as 
the sound of the trumpet to the 
war-horse, was the word glory to 
his ear. Cicero knew this well, 
and was not likely to forget it, 
having, in fact, himself, a similar 
affection of the auditory nerve. So 
he discourses to him after the 
following fashion: 

"If the result, O Caesar, of 
your immortal works shall be, 
that having overcome all your ad- 
versaries, you leave the Republic 
in its present condition, where 
will be your glory — that glory 
which is the illustrious and wide- 
spread remembrance of great 
men, who have deserved well of 


Cicero''s Oration for Marcellus. 


their fellow-citizens, their native 
land, and of all mankind? Your 
«oul, never content within the 
narrow limits of this mortal life, 
has ever burned with a desire for 
immortality. This fleeting breath 
is not what we call life. That is 
life— real life — which the memory 
of all ages will keep green, which 
posterity will cherish, and of 
which eternity itself will be the 
guardian. Have a care of this. 
Posterity will never forget the 
Khine, the Kile, the ocean, the 
empires you have gained, your 
innumerable battles, and incredi- 
ble victories. But if the State is 
not rehabilitated by your wisdom 
and your arts, your fame may be 
wide- spread, but solid, it never 
can be. Have regard then, to 
the sentence of those who, in 
years to come, will pass judg- 
ment upon your deeds — a judg- 
ment, perhaps, more impartial 
than ours, since it will be with- 
out prejudice. And even, if, as 
some unworthily suppose, it will 
matter little to you then, what 
men think of you, at least it be- 
hooves you so to act now that 
oblivion may never tarnish your 

Skillful orator, and noble man, 
moreover. For in his own bosom 
glowed the aspiration for immor- 
tality which he sought to arouse 
in the heart of his imperial aud- 

"Well, Csesar and Cicero have 
long had better opportunities than 
we, or Shakspeare, or Gray, of 
knowing what is posthumous 
honor, and whether "flattery 
can soothe the dull, cold ear of 
death;" but whether he can hear 
it or not, many ages have said. 

and many ages yet to come will 
repeat the saying, that it was a 
noble act, and well-done of Csesar 
to lay aside his personal animosi- 
ties and throw by-gones into the 
rubbish of the past, that he might 
magnanimously restore Marcellus, 
unconditionally, to his place, and 
to all his honors in the Senate. 
He did not even require an oath. 
Ironclads, whether in war or in 
peace, are an invention of modern 
genius, and christian morality. 

And what obloquy would be 
justly awarded to the transaction, 
had personal animosity or un- 
worthy fear checked the impulse 
of magnanimity! 

Ko very great issues were at 
stake, nor any wide- spread con- 
sequences likely to ensue from the 
decision either way. No State 
was to be overthrown, had mal- 
evolence ruled his bosom. No in- 
stitutions would be destroyed. 
No Roman community would be 
surrendered to Gauls, or Cartha- 
genians. No crime against na- 
ture would have been committed 
by interfering with the relations 
established by the Creator, be- 
tween difierent races of men. 
Csesar had too much sense, not to 
say conscience, to do anything like 
this. Had he repulsed Marcellus 
it could hardly have been called a 
crime so much as a meanness that 
would sensibly have lessened the 
distance between him and the 
men who have been found in all 
periods, except our own, who 
were infinitely little in every- 
thing but a temporary power to 
do injury, and the boundless 
malevolence with which they ex- 
ercised that power. 

It is sad to remember that 



0)1 The Heights. 


Caesar's pardon was unavailing to 
Marcellus. He set out on his re- 
turn, but before he reached Kome, 
he was assassinated by one of his 
own attendants. The miserable 
resentment of a hireling frus- 
trated the magnanimity of an 

Emperor. Still, the glory of the 
act will ever belong to Caesar's 
name, and the moral of it will re- 
main, if ever there should be 
found persons in power to whom 
it will apply. s. L. c. 


We have here a book of note, 
if we are to judge of its merits 
from the manner of its reception 
by the reading world of Europe, 
into many of whose languages we 
understand it has already been 
translated. It is presented to 
American readers in the usual 
handsome style of the publishers, 
whose imprimatur it bears, and 
its graceful appearance is quite 
beyond that generally awarded to 
works whose very external dress 
is apt to suggest a hint of an an- 
ticipated ephemeral existence. — 
This book, on the other hand, has 
a substantial look, as if it was a 
foregone conclusion, that it is 
destined to long life in company 
with the unquestioned occupants 
of the carefully-selected library, — 
not to be thrown aside, after a 
single reading, with other literary 
lumber, as ' only a novel.' 

Before we say anything of the 
merits of the work itself, we must 
be allowed a few strictures, as to 
the translation. It has the air of 
having been made by one to 
whom English is a foreign tongue: 

* " On The Heights "—a Novel, hy 
Berthold Auerbach. Roherts Broth- 
ers. Boston. 

we cannot otherwise, account for 
the singular grammatical errors, 
the unidiomatic expressions and 
the unaccustomed constructions. 
" Fanny Elisabeth Bunnett " is a 
name we see frequently associa- 
ted with translations, and we 
have been disposed to think that, 
she is a German or French lady, 
employed by the Leipsic publish- 
ing house (Baron Tauchnitz's). 
However this may be, she does 
not give us pure, unadulterated 
English; and we constantly feel 
the trammeling influence of the 
stifi" rendering as a barrier to our 
fuller enjoyment of our author. 

Auerbach is not familiarly 
known this side of the water. In- 
deed we are not sure that any of 
his works have been heretofore 
given to the American reading 
public , though he is quite a volu- 
minous and popular writer. Of 
his many books, " The Black- 
Forest Tales" are the most wide- 
ly known, perhaps, and the most 
appreciated by his countrymen. 

" On The Heights" is a book 
sui generis; — unique even among 
German novels. While all through 
its pages, the author holds per- 
sistently to his ulterior purpose of 


On The Heights. 


making of liis story, a web into 
which he may work his specula- 
tions in regard to human life and 
human destiny — much in the same 
way that Lessing uses his ' ' Ka- 
than The "Wise" — he nevertheless 
embroiders thereon, character and 
scene and incident — German le- 
gends, quaint traditions, domes- 
tic peculiarities and the thousand 
beautiful and wondrous phases of 
Alpine life, with as careful a fidel- 
ity to nature as even old Denner 
practiced. This is one of the 
greatest charms of the book. 

A regular, professed novel-read- 
er, who devours stories simply for 
the story, " as men smoke cigars" 
— might pronounce the action too 
slow: and perhaps there would be 
some truth in the objection, es- 
pecially in reference to the earlier 
portion of the book, but there are 
not many pages that do not show 
a richness in minute philosophies, 
that would make any thoughtful 
reader unwilling to practice much 

The experience of the fresh, 
simple, unworldly-wise, yet clear- 
visioned peasant woman, Walpur- 
ga, when suddenly summoned 
from her mountain home to the 
royal palace, as wet-nurse to the 
crown-prince, is most tenderly 
and skillfully narrated. The strug- 
gle between the two opposing sys- 
tems of life — nature's oiaive sim- 
plicity and art's unreal blandish- 
ments — is most truthfully wrought 
out: and the manner in which the 
pure and sturdy Alpine flower 
managed to exist, unspoiled and 
unwithered, amid the choking 
heats of the royal conservatory, 
is, in itself, an artistic study. — 
The peasant- wife's caressing pity 

for " the poor Queen who knew 
so little of the world out yonder" 
— according to her ideas, is, at 
times, very amusing. The chat- 
tering of the foster-mother with 
the baby-prince is as sweet as the 
chirping of birds. One would 
think that only a woman's intu- 
itions could have suggested them. 

The heroine of the book is the 
" Countess Irma," upon whose 
history and fate the interest of the 
story hinges. The interweaving 
of these two most skillfully con- 
trasted lives — Walpurga's and the 
Countess' — the reflex influence of 
each on the other, and the moral 
lesson forced on the reader's at- 
tention, (all the more effective, in 
that the author seems unconscious 
of attempting to convey any such 
lesson) are all very admirably 

"Irma's Journal" (Book 
Seventh) is the kernel , the heart's 
core, of the work, however. It 
might be called a series of prose 
sonnets, — so compact and terse 
and finished are the disconnected 
sentences — full of lofty thought, 
abstruse speculation, rich, sug- 
gestive fancy, and fine poetic 
imagery. The whole gist of 
"On The Heights" is wrapped 
up in this Seventh Book; and it 
contains more vigorous, incisive 
thinking, set forth too in poetical 
diction, than many a modern 
volume of poems can boast. Take 
a few passages selected at ran- 

— " That Eedeemer is yet to 
come, who will consecrate labor 
and the working-day." 

— " Liberty and work— these 
are the noblest prerogatives of 


On The Edglits. 


— ' ' The Arabians wash their 
hands before prayer: but in the 
desert where there is no water, 
they wash their hands in sand 
and dust. So it is: — the dust of 
work purifies." 

— "It is not joy, nor repose, 
which is the aim of life. It is 
work, or there is no aim at all." 

— " What will the world 
say?"— they ask in the palace: 
"What do people think V"— the 
peasant asks in his solitude. — 
" There lies our whole chain of 

— " Man alone lives far into 
the night: fiow far is the measure 
of our degree of civilization." 

— " To have once been on the 
extreme brink of death, only one 
step more, and a leap — this makes 
life easier: no unhappiness can 
now befall me." 

— " We hear the rain fall, but 
not the snow : Bitter grief is 
ioud — calm grief is silent." 

— "He who hasn't been away, 
doesn't come home." 

— "So long as one can say, 
"Father "and "Mother," there 
is a love on the earth which bears 
one in its arms: it is only when 
the parents are gone, that one is 
set down on the hard ground!" 

— " To a father, when his child 
dies— the future dies: to a child, 
when his parents die, the past 

— ' ' The most mysterious 
thoughts are like a bird on a 
twig: he sings; but if he sees an 
eye watching him, he flies away." 

We might multiply excerpts 
indefinitely, but sufficient have 
been given, by which to judge of 
the flavor of the whole. 

We lay down "On The Heights" 

with an utter demur against many 
of the philosophic and religious 
opinions of the author. He says 
beautiful and true things about 
art: but he would make art fill, in 
the cultured mind, the place that 
religion does in the minds of the 
mass. The people, he complains, 
" live entirely without art — they 
have nothing to bring the other 
life before them, but the Church. " 
So, in the absence of the former, 
he is content to accept the latter 
for them. He owns that our 
modern culture cannot take the 
place of religion, because " re- 
ligion makes all men equal, — cul- 
ture, unequal:" But he believes 
there will, some day, be a right 
and true culture that will equal- 
ize all men. 

In these views, lies a deep- 
seated error, to which it is well to 
have our eyes open, — an error to 
which a literary class of our im- 
mediate day is committing itself 
to a dangerous degree. We South- 
ern people, it is true, have not 
much temptation, at the present 
juncture of affairs, to sin in this 
particular direction, inasmuch as 
the struggle for simple existence 
is likely to be stern enough to 
blot from our minds, all remem- 
brance of the refined leisure 
which this finished culture im- 
peratively demands: we are sure- 
ly being " purified by the dust of 

Another fault we have to find 
with the teachings of our author, 
is his thorough pantheism: and 
were it not that it is set forth in 
rather too vague and transcend- 
ental a form to work a very de- 
cided impression upon mere or- 
dinary readers, we should la- 


John Smith, Esq. 


ment the popularity of the work. 

And there is a yet graver error 
to be pointed out and rejected, as 
aimed at the very corner-stone of 
our holy Christian religion, name- 
ly: The possibility of the sinful, 
unaided soul, by the omnipotence 
of its own supreme will, to expiate 
the past, and to work itself, 
through its innate power, into a 
condition of absolute freedom and 
purity— so that the wine of life 
shall run crystal-clear, utterly and 
forever separated from the lees of 
human weakness and wrong do- 
ings; — the old philosophy of Pa- 
ganism reproduced again, in one 
of its thousand Protean forms. 

Yet we have in the Grandmoth- 
er, a picture of simple, unques- 
tioning peasant-faith, which it is 

refreshing to look upon, which, 
however, is quite consistent with 
the author's theory of 'a religion 
for the people. ' There is not a 
sweeter character in the volume — 
so German— so strong — so full of 
a rich, rude poetry— so wholly 
natural— so wise in the deepest 

We feel that we have very in- 
adequately characterized this re- 
markable book; and that our ex- 
amination of it has been much too 
cursory; and we reluctantly dis- 
miss it, realizing it to be one of 
the most deep-thoughted and sug- 
gestive books (with all its specula- 
tive and theological errors) that 
has, for a long time, fallen into 
our hands. 



Ellen Clardy swung herself 
to and fro on the gate, keeping 
time to a merry tune with the 
easy grace of childhood, but her 
violet eyes were fixed toward the 
sunset with the earnest look of a 
woman. A youth of frank, health- 
ful appearance came up through 
the garden and paused to watch 
her, smiling as he watched. His 
name was John Smith. There 
was a pretty picture before him 
against the brilliant western sky, 
which threw yellow shafts of light 
through her brown hair, and 
touched each feature with a mel- 

low tint of rose and gold. Ellen 
was pretty and sweet; pretty like 
a spray of white ash that grows 
slender and fine, sweet as a brier 
rose on a de-wy morning, and her 
voice had the freshness of a glad 
valley stream. Brightness, daint- 
iness and grace marked her attire, 
from the peasant waist, with 
scarlet lacings, to the fluted lace 
at her throat and hands; from the 
top of her head, with its knot of 
bright ribbon, to the sole of her 
foot that hung from the gate, 
touching the ground as she mov- 
ed to and fro, with the toe of a 


John Smith, Esq. 


silver buckled little slipper. To 
an artist it was a study — to a 
lover, a shrine! 

When the song ceased, John 
called her name, startling her into 
a cry of surprise, as he twisted a 
long jasraine vine round and 
round her neck, head, waist and 
arms, stirring and bruising its 
yellow bells. Then he stood ad- 
miring her graceful efforts to dis- 
entangle herself, hearing her 
laugh and scold, seeing her aglow 
with pleasure, until he wished 
they might stand forever thus, 
with no sound save her voice and 
the subdued lullaby of nature, as 
she hushed the day to sleep. 

A slender, heavy-bearded young 
man, gotten up in the most ex- 
quisite style of cheap romances, 
broke the stillness by riding past 
in a quick canter. It was Hugh 
St. Clair, who gave an expressive 
glance, a smile, and an elegant 
salutation, as he reined in his 
horse to a gait better adapted to 
display the figure of the rider, 
and disappeared, leaving a good 
impression. Ellen's face was red, 
but John's grew white, for the 
sky had grown grey and he knew 
the reflection went up from her 

"John," said she abruptly, 
" why cannot you and Mr. St. 
Clair like each other?" 

" Because both of us like you 
too well, I suppose," replied John 
recovering his color. " Which do 
you like best, Nell?" 

"Which?" echoed she, "why 
both, of course!" 

" You absurd child! Which 
could you spare most easily?" 


"Pshaw! If one or the other 

had to die, and you had the word 
to give, which name would you 
call," asked he excitedly, " his or 

She looked troubled and tear- 

" Never mind, Nelly, dear, you 
are almost weeping, it was such a 
foolish question." 

He spoke tenderly as he took 
her hand, believing she loved him. 
She felt it in his touch, manner 
and tone, and spoke resolutely. 

" But I will mind, John, I must 
tell the truth." 

He carried her hand to his lips 
and bit the tips of her fingers one 
by one — an odd caress of his she 
had known for years. He began 
it when she first sat alone, and 
her hand was about the size of a 
great-coat button. She was wont 
to receive it playfully, but now 
it was withdrawn as she contin- 
ued, " We have known each other 
so long, John — " 

" Ever since we were little chil- 
dren," added he. 

" Yes, we are like brother and 
sister" — he shook his head as she 
went on — " and it would almost 
break my heart to part with you, 
it would be so hard, so hard, 
John!" He took the other hand 
and held both close to his breast. 
" But — I would have to call your 

"To live?" 

•' Oh John, dear John!" she 
sobbed out, " I could not bear to 
call his name, for him to die!" 

" You mean, you mean," said 
he hoarsely, " oh tell me what 
you mean!" 

" That I love Hugh St. Clair." 

He dropped her hands as if they 
were heavy weights, stepped away 


John SmitJi, Esq. 


quickly and leaned against the 
gate with folded arms. 

She spoke again, but he heard 
nothing save those words; they 
had deadened every other sound 
and darkened the world to him. 

At sixteen Ellen floated in an 
atmosphere of dreams, where she 
was the heroine and Hugh St. 
Clair the hero of all the trashy 
novels she had devoured — that 
sensational style of fiery delinea- 
tions of inconceivable passions of 
love, jealousy and despair, which 
in spite of a wise system of State 
taxation, are still hurled among 
us. Many a night she fancied 
herself in the attitude of the thin- 
ly clad young ladies on the title 
page of " Frank Leslie's Illustra- 
ted," borne through a terrible 
tempest by an infuriated lover, 
dishevelled tresses streaming up- 
on the wind, with her hands 
crossed in meek submission to the 
decrees of Fate, above the wild 
heart which demands immediate 
elopement with a scoundrel, lest 
it break! 

To marry a man like plain cous- 
in John — true, he was not her 
cousin, but they had been reared 
together and learned to love each 
other as if they had been cousins 
— it would never do in the world ! 
"Why they had eaten hominy out 
of the same oven and with the 
same spoon in Black Mammy's 

house many a time ; she remem- 
bered distinctly when he quit 
wearing ruffles and took to collars, 
and when uncle switched him 
for going in swimming on Sun- 
day. As for his memory, doubt- 
less it was better, he could tell 
her how she looked when she was 
shedding teeth, in fact he had 
been her first dentist himself. — 
She loved to laugh over those old 
times ; she loved him dearly but 
could not marry him — it was so 
unromantic. John was so pro- 
saic, there was nothing dashy 
about him — he never created a 
sensation— never drank or swore. 
He smoked a little, and read more 
than heroes generally, but his 
hair was light and short. As for 
his moustache, it was as yet by 
no means conspicuous, and bid 
fair to be yellow — decidedly yel- 
low; while Ml'. St. Clair's was 
raven black. Poor John could 
only whistle, and Mr. St. Clair 
sang divinely! Last but not least 
was a fact for which he might 
be pitied, but certainly not blam- 
ed; as he had no voice in the 
matter of his christening, they 
called him John Smith! 

She pronounced the name, 
"John Smith," and put her hands 
to her ears— but "Mrs. St. Clair!" 
Ah, that was so ^distingu^'' — she ac- 
cepted him. 


Two hours after her interview heroine in the last sweet story in 
with John at the gate, her affianc- " Godey's Lady's Book," retorted 
ed was demanding an account of in indignant innocence. They 
the conversation. He made some quarreled until he relapsed into 
fierce threats, in a heroic style, stern silence, and she into proud 
and she, after the manner of the regret. Sarcasm and reproaches 


John Smith, Esq. 


alternated until her penitent head 
sank on his shoulder and two 
small tears saturated her hand- 
kerchief. When it was all over, 
and the reconciliation had follow- 
ed with its usual amount of ten- 
der blandishments, he asked who 
gave her the flowers she wore in 
her hair. 

"John," answered she timidly. 

" Who gave you those in your 

"You did." 

"You are a coquette!" ex- 
claimed he angrily, placing his 
hands on her shoulders, and press- 
ing them against the lattice until 
a sharp nail pierced her flesh and 
spotted the muslin sleeve with 

"Answer me, do you love me?" 

"I do." 

" Then give him up." 

" I have done so." 

" You shall cease speaking to 
him. I command you to do so." 

She was afraid of him, and bit 
her lips silently. 

" Do you hear me, Ellen?" con- 
tinued he, "If you ever speak to 
him again, we part. Promisel" 

She hesitated a moment, saw 
the light from the parlor window 
shine on his malignant face, con- 
sidered it the sublime frenzy of 
the grand passion, and promised 
to pass cousin John as a stranger. 
Hugh was then all she could wish. 
They returned to the parlor 
where he kissed the wounded 
shoulder, wiped away her tears, 
and sang. 

" Thou hast wounded the spirit that 
loved thee," 

to her heart's content. 

That night she leaned out of 
her window to gaze, in rapture, 
at the moon, and abandon herself 
to her happiness. The realiza- 
tion of her ideal of a dark browed 
lover with the tenderness of a 
Romeo, and jealousy of an Othello, 
had come, and she would have 
been very happy, if she had not 
heard a step on the stair-case 
which reminded her of her 
promise. Poor cousin John ! 
She wondered if he would say 
good-night as he passed her door, 
and go whistling to his room. He 
passed flrmly by without paus- 

"It is well," thought she, " my 
promise would have been broken 
had he said good-night." 

In the morning she was school- 
ed to meet him without a word 
whom she had met nearly every 
morning of her life. 

"Good morning, Nelly!" said 
John cheerfully. 

She looked toward him, paused 
and turned away. 

"Perhaps," thought he, "she 
did not hear me, I will try again." 
' 'Good morning, N'elly ! ' 'She heard 
then, for her face was flushed to the 
edge of her hair. He looked stead- 
ily at her a moment, and under- 
stood her desire. It was the last 
time she saw him for five years. 
The next meal there was a va- 
cant chair at the table — Ellen was 
there but ate nothing. Poor cous- 
in John! 


Accident, or the hand of Provi- about the womanhood of Ellen 
dence threw a better influence Clardy. The accident was that 


John Smith, Esq. 


great blessing in disguise, the 
'blockade of the South. Did the 
few friends from whom we were 
separated look pityingly upon us? 
Did we seem shut out from the 
light, imprisoned in darkness? — 
What an error! To our isolation 
we owe the development of the 
vast resources of the Sovith, the 
industry of her men and women, 
the spirit of earnest endeavor, the 
pride of independent labor, the 
dignity of pursuit, and a social, 
moral and spiritual elevation. — 
Such are the fruits of sacrifice — 
then tell us not we fought in 
vain! We wear flushed cheeks, 
and conquer rising tears, but we 
neither blush nor weep for shame ; 
for true Southrons have lain in 
the fiery furnace, and bear the 
ring of good metal within their 
souls. Not the least of our lau- 
rels do we count the elevation 
of Southern Literature. 

The first year of the War, 
Ellen Clardy missed the visits of 
Harper, Frank Leslie, Godey and 
Peterson, and read the old num- 
bers over again ; then in despera- 
tion for something to read, bor- 
rowed the Ledger and Mrs. South- 
worth's novels. In the earnest 
life that Southern women lived, 
these palled upon her taste. The 
next year she enjoyed 'Debit and 
Credit,' it made her a worker, 
'Les Miserables,' a thinker; so 
thinking and working together, 
she awoke from her old dreams. 
About that time a copy of Godey's 
Lady's Book crept through the 
lines and found its way to her. 
Therein she found something to 
this effect: "There is an innate 
refinement in the character of the 
Korthern Ladies which can never 

be attained by a Southern woman, 
even through association and 
education, in consequence of the 
coarse manners which result from 
their peculiar institutions." She 
was a Southern Woman, and 
proud of the title; so she laid 
down the book, quietly made a 
bonfire of all such trash to be 
found in her possession, and 
placed that last crowning insult 
on the summit of the pile. 

Her lover came down from his 
ideal height, step by step. The 
spell was finally broken by a 
falsehood. He raved, of course; 
and strove by an outburst of 
temper, and an imperious will, to 
force her back into his power, but 
she was firm. 

" I am no longer a silly dream- 
er," said she, "I have conquered 

"It was a dream then," re- 
turned he quickly. 

" Yes, a dream of an over- 
wrought brain, warped by per- 
nicious reading, and idleness." 

" What are your objections to 

"You have a jealous disposi- 
tion" — Perfect love casteth out 
fear. "You are cruel — you shot 
your horse last summer to in- 
timidate me." 

"Anything else, my brave and 
fair one?" asked he derisively. 

"Yes. I thought I loved you 
then , for I attributed your violent 
emotions to love of me, and was 
flattered by it." 

" It was love! I would sell my 
honor for you, Ellen!" 

" That is it, Mr. St. Clair; that 
is my reason for this step. I can- 
not become the wife of a man 
who would sacrifice a principle 


John Smith, Esq. 


for my sake! He must hold his 
honor as sacred as my own." 


" Ask your conscience — I am 
not your accuser, except in this — 
you told me a falsehood, and wrong- 
ed a man who is brave and quick 
to resent a wrong, but will spare 
you for my sake." 

" Then you forever refuse me?" 

"I do!" 

"Is there no remnant of past 
love to reproach you with 
broken faith?" 

She smiled as she replied, "I 
would be untrue to you and to 
myself if I married you; I would 
not wrong any man thus. Your 
affection for me has not ennobled 
you, nor has the hope of mine 
made you a better man. It 

is an infatuation — forget it." 
So much for good reading and 
hard work. She felt very free 
when he left her, and would have 
been quite happy, but — poor cous- 
in John! 

One by one of Ellen's admirers 
were rejected, until it was said 
she would never marry. When 
she grew sad and quiet some one 
said, "Ah, she is setting her cap 
for our minister!" When the 
minister's sermons grew eloquent 
in denunciation, the young men 
said, "He has met our fate." — 
There was a rosewood box on a 
small workstand in her room ; the 
key of it lay in her bosom. What 
did it contain? Ah, that was the 
secret! She must tell it herself. 


John Smith came home after 
the surrender of Lee's army with 
a scar on his face and a star on 
his collar. The fatted calf would 
have been killed, and a ring put 
on his finger; but, alas! the calves 
in that section had all been slain, 
and the rings had rolled north- 
ward, so there was nothing left 
but a welcome. This was hearty 
enough. He was grateful for it, but 
Ellen labored under a difficulty of 
breathing which annoyed him. — 
There was an uncomfortable lump 
in his own throat, which his aunt 
endeavored to cure. He poured 
her remedies in the fire when that 
worthy lady turned her back up- 
on him, but remained in his room 
twenty-four hours, reading with 
his book upside down. Twenty 
cigars were lighted during the 
time, half of them at the wrong 

end. Ellen understood the case 
sooner than he did, and laughed, 
sang and danced about the house 
in an unfeeling manner. She was 
very annoying to a sick man. He 
resolved to go to Brazil, but 
would show her before he left how 
calmly he could speak of the past; 
that he cared as little for her as 
she did for him. One evening he 
saw her from his window trim- 
ming the roses. It was a good 
opportunity ; so he left the house, 
and walked leisurely down that 
way, cutting the air with a spray 
of spirea held in his hand. Koth- 
ing was easier. He dashed bold- 
ly at the subject. 

" Ellen, do you remember how 
I used to dress your hair? Let 
me dress it again." 

The spray was trembling when 
he wound it about her head, but 


John Smith, Esq. 


it is a slender plant, and nods to 
the softest breath of spring. 

" Yellow jessamine was your 
favorite then," 

"It is still." Both voices were 
low and unsteady. 

"What a fool I was the even- 
ing that " — 

Johh was no coward — the boys 
in the ranks called him "steady 
and stout," while he wore "the 
grey" — but here he came to a 
halt and left the field in confusion. 
However, he rallied and recover- 
ed his position, facing Ellen and 
the roses. An old soldier ran 
from a little woman behind a 
breastwork of flowers and a bat- 
tery of smiles, playing on him! 
But it came her turn to tremble 
before his resolute advance, so 
she bent over to examine the 
roses with the air of a professional 
gardener. There were some in- 
coherent remarks made about the 
health of "Lady Banks," that 
year, and a fear expressed that 
"Louis the Fourteenth" was 
backward; to which he appro- 
priately replied, as follows: 

"Ellen, I thought I had con- 
quered myself, or I would never 
have returned. I will go away 
again." She turned white. "You 
are not looking well, have I of- 
fended you?" 

" No, John — I 57ant to ask your 
pardon for refusing to bid you 
good morning five years ago." 
She spoke quickly and walked 
away from the spot, he following. 
She gave him no time to tell her 
she was forgiven — they were al- 
ready at the gate — the same little 
gate on which she used to swing. 

Her hand was on the latch, but 
it was fast. He leaned against it. 

and she looked up in his face as 
he spoke. 

"Tell me, did you love St. 

"I did not." 

"Have you ever loved?" Her 
eyes fell. 

"Yes, John." 

"I am a fool again! Forgive 
me, I had no right to ask." An 
April drift of light and shade 
crossed her face. The latch 
clicked, and he held the gate open 
for her to pass through. She 
made a movement forward, hesi- 
tated, and looked timidly in his 

" When you see me again, I 
shall be more of a man," said he, 
looking away from her. 

" Oh, John, why don't you ask 
the name of him I love!" 

"Tell it, I can bear it." She 
stepped lightly back and whisper- 
ed close to his ear, so close that 
her breath warmed his cheek — 


Still looking away, lest sight 
might break the spell, he asked 
again the name, and she answered 
again — 


" Ellen, could you marry a man 
like me? A common man!" 

"Common?" echoed she al- 
most indignantly, " common in- 
deed ! Why, John, I have never 
seen a man like you!" 

"I am disfigured." 

"Oh, John, hush! That scar 
is a patent of nobility, a badge of 
honor — look at me, I am proud of 
it." He looked, and saw that he 
was a man — every inch a King in 
her eyes; and she saw that to 
him she was the dearest woman 
in the world. Standing thus to- 


John Smithy Eaq. 


gether, it seemed to both that the of golden argosies upon the sky, 

little venture that went down and the stars came out to clap 

with the setting sun so many their hands for joy! 
years ago, had anchored a fleet 


They were married. The bride 
had told her husband often why 
she loved him; but it never sound- 
ed old in his ears. He asked her 
again when the wedding was over, 
and she was more explicit than 
ever. So it was a charming new 

" How did you learn that you 
loved me?" 

" By contrast. When Hugh 
was jealous, I remembered one 
who woiild have trusted me to the 
end of the world. When he shot 
his horse, I thought of one who 
splintered the leg of a mocking 
bird and brought it home to me 
in his bosom. When he told me 
a falsehood, I thought of one who 
loved the truth and never swerved 
from it. Ah, John, how could 
you love me when I was so un- 
kind?" Her lips quivered as she 
thought of that morning greeting 
she never returned. What if she 
had never heard his voice again! 

" You had your faults, Nelly, 
and I had mine. I hoped we 
could help each other to mend 
them." His smile lifted the 

" You have no faults, you dear 
one!" Those were earnest, wor- 
shipful eyes set upon him. 

It is a hard thing for a man to 
tell a woman not to idolize him, 
when she insists on doing so. She 
stood at the back of his chair — her 
arms around his neck, and her 
hands locked together on his 

breast. There was tenderness giv- 
en for tenderness, smiles for 
smiles, but his foce wore a seri- 
ous expression. He took a Bible 
from the table and turned the 
leaves over slowly. The bridal 
veil enveloped both as she leaned 
forward to read where he pointed. 
" Thou shalt have no other gods 
before me." Her hands were un- 
clasped, and she was lifted around 
in his arms to hear him read on 
to the end of the commandment. 
Then he spoke in a firm but gen- 
tle tone: " Power is sweet to eve- 
ry human being. Its gratification 
is increased by the idolatry of 
those who love us until we be- 
come overbearing and exacting. 
Thus, many men, who truly love 
their wives, become their tyrants. 
Help me to guard against this, 
my darling!" 

" You could not be a tyrant," 
said Ellen, unwilling to see a 
shadow of wrong in her abundant 

" I asked you to help me guard 
against it, will you?" 


"From this tyranny," contin- 
ued he, "proceeds selfishness; 
from selfishness, servitude. True 
marriage is not a state of slavery. 
I do not wish my wife to be my 
servant in any capacity whatever. 
The idea is revolting to a lover, it 
should be to a husband. Habitual 
selfishness alone could demand it 


John Smith, Esq. 


— when I want a servant I will 
hire one." 

"But dear," said Ellen, "you 
would not have me regardless of 
the comforts of your honieV" 

" No, but I wish no system of 
sacrifice instituted therein — where 
there is work to do, we will work 
together — where there is pleasure, 
we will enjoy it together also. If 
our burdens are grievous to be 
borne, we will help each other — 
the heavier burden borne by the 

"Ah, yes," added she, "I see 
your meaning, you would have us 
co-workers, hand to hand, heart 
to heart, aiding and comforting 
each other — such a wife, with 
God's help, I intend to become." 

"Then there will be perfect 
peace in our home. I conceive the 
true spirit of marriage to he the 
toil of twain as one, in the exercise 
of every gift for mutual happiness, 
which redounds to the glory of 
God /" 

"These are serious reflections, 
and my bride wears too sad a face 
for our bridal day — you are not 
frightened, iNellyV" 

"Oh, no, it is a solemn thing, 
but you are with me, and God is 
with us both — I am not afraid!" 

" Then smile again, or I shall 
forget the dignity of my position 
as a married man, and become a 
teasing boy — I'll pull down your 
hair, I'll steal your slippers off 
your feet, I'll toss you to the ceil- 
ing like a baby, if you do not im- 
mediately smile for your tyrannic- 
al husband! There ! That will 
do very well, — now laugh aloud 
or I will proceed to open this 
mysterious box." 


" Oh, you prying fellow! Hands 
off 1" 

"My curiosity is on the in- 
crease; gratify it, or I'll light my 
cigar and smoke in your room. 
I'll color your laces with nico- 

" Guess then!" 

" Some trophy of the War?" 

" j,[o!" 

" A bunch of faded flowers?" 


"A package of letters tied with 
blue ribbon, perhaps?" 

"No, you are not good at guess- 
work; you are the most stupid 
husband I ever had in my life — 
they are mementoes of my love." 

"False woman, and you have 
preserved them until now!" ex- 
claimed he, in playful reproach, 
as she took a small key from her 
bosom and opened the box. There 
was a mocking bird's wing lying 
on top. 

"Do you remember the bird 
you gave me, John?" 

" With the broken leg?" 

"Yes ; when the poor thing 
died, I kept this wing." 

"I told you to cure the little 
sufierer and set him free." 

"But he died." 

"What is this then ? Pot- 
hooks and hangers, as I live! 
Ha, ha! Fine specimens truly. 
Here is Hogarth's line of beauty!" 

"You need not laugh, sir, you 
set the copies yourself^and mark- 
ed them in pencil for me to trace 

"I humbly beg pardon — now 
you will certainly permit me to 
laugh at this," said he, holding 
up a well-worn child's boot, with 
the red top half torn off— "what 



John Smith, Esq. 


little ragamuffin's boot is this? 
you odd-notioned woman!" 

" It belongs to the boy who 
used to climb trees for yellow jas- 
mine for my hair." 

" How did you come by it?" 

" I put it away the day you 
lost the mate on the river bank, 
to keep uncle from making you 
wear one boot to school." He 
laughed at his wife's odd treas- 
ures, but appreciated them as she 
continued, " 1 put those things 
away while you were gone, because 
I was afraid you might never 
come back home." 

" And you loved me all that 
time?" asked he fondly. 

" Yes, John, dear, and I am so 
glad to know it by these simple 
signs! So glad to know my heart 
was true all the time, and only 
this crazy head went wandering. 
If yoa ever have cause to be jeal- 
ous of my thoughts, it will be of 
those truants that slip off from 
our iiappy present to those dear 
old times." 

" And you never regret that — 
that dream?" 

" Yes, I regret its follies, but 
rejoice that it is over. I am 
awake now, and so happy!" 

" But your ideal? You are 
sure you don't mind my light 
hair?" asked he suppressing a 

"Why, John, I like it!" 

"Ha, ha! Love is not blind, 
but I am sure he wears glasses — 
nor my yellow moustache?" 


" Xor my large mouth?" 

"That is benevolent!" 

"In the way of kisses, very! 
As hereunto attested." 

" Well, Ellen, there is one thing 
you do not like, and you must 
own it, with your usual candor. 
I shall not mind it at all, on the 
contrary, I agree with you i^er- 
fectly — that is your objection to 
my name." 

" John, I like it, I do, I declare 
I do! You need not laugh! It 
sounds honest, rugged and strong; 
and I like it because — " 

" I won't laugh any more, fin- 
ish your sentence." 

"Because it is my husband's 
name, and he invests everything 
about him with his own sturdy 

Thereupon followed a demon- 
stration decidedly foolish, a fash- 
ion we laugh at, but must revere, 
since it bears date of the day when 
Adam kissed Eve in the garden of 

"Ah, dearest, should I ever 
realize the highest and best with- 
in me, the merit will be yours. — 
God's best gift to me has been my 
own true wife!" 

IST. B. The wedding was a very 
private affair, nothing striking 
about it, not even a tone. What 
was the use of a grand display? 
The sum total of the matter was, 
that a beautiful girl named Ellen 
Clardy found something to ad- 
mire, esteem and love, in a young 
man who signed his name — "Joha 
Smith, Esq." 


Lime as a Fertilizer. 



Having been frequently asked 
the value of lime as a fertilizer, 
and requested to state its specific 
uses in the economy of the farm, 
I propose to sum up the best es- 
tablished practical results derived 
from science, and confirmed by 
the experience of the most judi- 
cious authorities on the subject. 

Lime is a substance familiarly 
known to all our farming commu- 
nities, and is everywhere valued 
for its varied and important ap- 
plications — so valued that some 
have regarded it " the basis of all 
good husbandry;" and even so 
excellent a judge as Prof. John- 
ston declares it to be " the most 
valuable and most extensively 
used of all the mineral substances 
that have ever been made avail- 
able in practical agriculture." — 
A fertilizer that can claim such a 
high encomium from such a 
source, deserves to have its merits 
better understood — its nature, its 
modes of action, its practical re- 
sults more thoroughly compre- 
hended. We propose to confine 
our remarks to such points only 
as are applicable to carbonate of 
lime and its derivatives, such as 
quick lime, slaked lime, &c. 

In the form in which it is usu- 
ally offered in the market, and in 
which, therefore, it is most gener- 
ally available for the farmer, lime 
is a caustic alkali, (burnt lime,) 
and this caustic quality is the 
main cause of its activity and effi- 
ciency in the service of the skilful 
agriculturist. The food we eat is 
not in a condition to nourish our 

bodies as it comes in its crude 
fetate from the harvest field— it 
must be cooked, masticated, and 
even when swallowed it cannot be 
taken up by the blood, and dis- 
tributed through the system for 
the nourishment of our bodies, 
till it has been acted on by the 
gastric and other juices— it must 
be "digested." So with the 
plant; its food, too, must, in some 
sense, be cooked, masticated and 
digested, before it can be taken 
up and assimilated by the living 

Caustic lime is the cook that 
prepares the food, and the gastric 
juice that digests the nourishment 
for the plant. But while this di- 
gesting operation is, perhaps, in 
the great majority of cases where 
lime is artificially applied, its 
most important function, it must 
not be forgotten that this is not 
its only office; lime is not only the 
cook that prepares other food for 
the growing crop, but is itself es- 
sential to the nourishment of the 
plant, entering into its composi- 
tion, constituting an important 
part of its inorganic elements, be- 
sides performing other valuable 
offices to be discussed as we pro- 

These general statements are 
sufficient to suggest the nature 
and character of the work which 
lime accomplishes for the practi- 
cal farmer, and to show, in a gen- 
eral way, the foundation of its 
great reputation as a mineral fer- 
tilizer. But let us descend to par- 


Li7iie as a Fertilizer. 


There are five modes of action 
by which mineral manures may 
profit the growing plant when ap- 
plied to the soil. 

1st. They may themselves be- 
come food for the growing crop. 

2nd. They may digest and pre- 
pare the food already in the soil. 

3rd. They may absorb gaseous 
fertilizers from the atmosphere, 
and retain them for the future use 
of the plant. 

4th. They may destroy or 
neutralize substances in the soil 
which are poisonous or injurious 
to the crop. 

5th. They may improve the 
mechanical condition of the soil. 

Some mineral manures perform 
one of the offices, and some anoth- 
er, but lime accomplishes them all. 

In regard to the first mode of 
action, chemical analysis settles 
the question; it shows that lime 
is present in the ashes of all our 
field crops, and that in some of 
them, as clover, peas, turnips, 
&c., it is a principal ingredient. 
Hence lime, if it be naturally de- 
ficient, may be usefully added to 
the soil simply as a food for the 
crop, and, if wholly wanting, its 
addition becomes an absolute ne- 
cessity, as no crop could be ma- 
tured without it. 

In regard to the second point, 
lime may be considered as a spe- 
cific; the most important service 
which it generally renders to the 
plant, when applied in large 
quantities, is the digestion and 
preparation of other manures, 
which, though found in the soil, 
are not in a condition to be ab- 
sorbed by the roots, and thus 
made available, for immediate 

By its caustic and alkaline prop- 
erties, lime facilitates the decom- 
position of all vegetable and ani- 
mal matters, liberating their nu- 
tritive elements, and converting 
insoluble, into soluble compounds, 
thus rendering them capable of 
being absorbed and appropriated. 

Even the inert mineral masses 
of the soil do not escape the di- 
gestive action of lime: felspar and 
other minerals containing the 
silicates of potash and soda, more 
readily surrender, in the presence 
of lime, their treasures of potash 
and soda; and these alkalies in 
their turn help to convert the in- 
soluble into soluble silicates, and 
thus supply to our cereals the 
elements that support their stems, 
enabling them to bear up against 
storm and wind; it is the absence 
of this soluble silica, which lime 
assists in digesting, that often 
causes our grain crops to fall to 
the ground before they are fully 

As to the third point, the ab-- 
sorption of fertilizing elements 
from the air, lime, both directly 
and indirectly, by its own action, 
and by its pulverizing eftdct upon 
compact soils, exerts a highly 
beneficial influence. True, it 
does not, like plaster of Paris, ab- 
sorb ammonia directly from the 
atmosphere, but what is quite as 
much to the farmer's interest, it 
converts the ammonia which may 
be forming in the soil, into nitric 
acid, and thus fixes its valuable 
elements so as to prevent escape 
into the air. Moreover, we have 
the highest authority for saying 
that when organic matter is de- 
composing, in the soil, ammonia 
is generated by absorbing nitrogen 


Lime as a Fertilizer. 


from the air, and thus, as we 
have seen that lime promotes this 
decomposition, it promotes also, 
the formation of these most valua- 
ble manures from atmospheric 

In the fourth place, it is well 
known that lime will counteract 
the injurious acids, both organic 
and inorganic, which collect in 
damp soils where much vegetable 
matter is decomposing, and which 
render the land sour and unfavor- 
able to successful cultivation. It 
is of the nature of an alkali, like 
lime, to neutralize these acids and 
make these sour lands sweet and 
mellow. Lime also decomposes 
and counteracts the injurious sul- 
phates of iron, of magnesia, and 
of alumina, all of which some- 
times abound to the serious inju- 
ry of every variety of field crops, 
and often disappoint the hopes of 
the industrious laborer. 

In the fifth place, that lime af- 
fects the mechanical constitution 
of the soil, would be naturally in- 
ferred from what we have seen of 
its power to decompose the earthy 
matters which contain the val- 
uable mineral elements of the 

Lime, by pulverizing the solid 
particles, renders the land more 
loose and friable, at the same 
time that it liberates the valuable 
stores of nutritious matter locked 
up in them. By its chemical ac- 
tion it makes stiff and heavy clays 
more light and porous, while its 
mechanical effect is to render 
more compact the texture of loos- 
er soils. 

Lime is thus the busy agent of 
the farmer, collecting, pulverizing, 
elaborating, digesting whatever 

it can find in air, earth or water, 
and diligently exacting tribute 
alike from the animal, vegetable 
and mineral kingdoms, for the 
use and support of the growing: 
plant: it is not only itself a food,, 
but it also acts as a digester, an.- 
absorber, a neutralizer and a me- 
chanical improver. What more 
could be expected from a single 
fertilizer? This surely is a great 
deal, but it is not all. 

Among the effects of lime Prof. 
Johnson enumerates several par- 
ticulars in which it modifies even 
the character of the vegetation. — 
For instance, it alters the natural 
production of the soil by its ten- 
dency to extirpate certain coarse 
grasses which infest some locali- 
ties, and prevent the growth of 
richer and more nutritive kinds. 
" It kills," he says, " heath, moss, 
and sour and benty grasses, and 
brings up a sweet and tender 
herbage, mixed with white and 
red clover, more greedily eaten, 
and more nourishing to the cattle. 
Indeed all fodder, whether natural 
or artificial, is said to be sound- 
er and more nourishing, when 
grown upon land to which lime 
has been abundantly applied." 
It is said also, that it " improves 
the quality of almost every culti- 
vated crop:" all kinds of grains, 
peas, turnips, potatoes, &c., are 
found to be more suitable for food 
when grown on well-limed soils. 
It is claimed that it also " hastens 
the maturity of the crop," caus- 
ing the small grains to mature 
from ten to fourteen days earlier 
on limed soils than on those un- 
limed. The quantity of lime nec- 
essary to accomplish these results 
when applied to cultivated lands, 


Lime as a Fertilizer. 


depends upon so many conditions 
of soil, climate and cultivation 
that no general rule can be given. 

We learn from experiments 
carefully conducted in England, 
that " the quantity of pure lime 
contained in the crops produced 
upon one acre during four years 
rotation amounted, on an aver- 
age, to 242 lbs." This gives us 
about 60 lbs. per acre, actually re- 
moved from the soil every year in 
composition with the vegetable 
matter, and which was necessary 
to its growth and healthy devel- 
opment. "VYe thus see how much 
of this element may be needed for 
the actual nourishment of the 
plants, and how rapidly soils, not 
•abundantly supplied by nature, 
must become exhausted of this es- 
sential ingredient, if it be not ar- 
tificially applied. 

Under such circumstances lands, 
which otherwise might be highly 
productive, may become sterile 
.and useless. 

But this statement only includes 
the lime necessary for a single one 
of the five uses specified above, 
and that one ordinarily demand- 
ing a less quantity than either of 
the others. If to this be added 
the amount sufficient for all the 
other purposes, we may appre- 
ciate more fully the quantities 
sometimes profitably employed in 
countries where agriculture is 
carried to the highest perfection. 
According to Bossingault " soil 
which is without a considerable 
proportion of the calcareous ele- 
ment, never possesses a high de- 
gree of fertility." 

A simple calculation will show 
that where no lime is present in 
the land, it will require about 

400 bushels per acre to give the 
small proportion of only one per 
cent, of lime for a depth of 12 in- 
ches below the surface. 

Few soils are thus wholly de- 
void of lime, and much smaller 
quantities will sufiice for all the 
purposes of agriculture. Bos- 
singault informs us, that, in Eng- 
land, clay lands receive the large 
amount of from 230 to 300 bush- 
els of lime per acre, and lighter 
lands from 150 to 200 bushels. 
This must be but once for a term 
of many years. In France the 
amount applied is greatly less, 
about 60 or 70 bushels per acre, 
at intervals of seven or eight 
years. Johnston tells us that in 
Great Britain a dose is on an 
average from 7 to 10 bushels, per 
acre, a year. In Flanders, where 
agriculture has achieved its great- 
est triumphs, the quantity used is 
not so large, only 10 or 12 bushels 
every three years. 

In this country the experience 
is similar to Europe. 

A practical farmer in Schuyl- 
kill county, Pennsylvania, writes: 
" The quantity (of lime) depends 
on the kind of soil and after- 
treatment. Heavy clay can bear 
100 or more bushels to the acre, 
while, on light soils, from 50 to 
80 bushels will answer very well." 
Another report from Chester 
county, Pennsylvania, says that, 
"lime is mostly spread on the 
sod at the rate of 30 to 60 bush- 
els to the acre, once in each 
course of crops," and to show the 
practical results, it is added, 
" nearly all our land for miles 
around, was formerly worn out 
old fields, which would produce 
nothing, but the application of 


Lime as a Fertilizer. 


lime unlocked the hidden treas- 
ures of the soil and rendered 
-available, as food for plants, the 
inert organic matter which it con- 
tained. This, accompanied by 
judicious cultivation and proper 
rotation of crops, has entirely 
changed the appearance of our 
neighborhood. Scarcely an old 
field is now to be found." Hon. 
T. G. Clemson, who was formerly 
connected with the Agricultural 
Department of the United States 
Government, remarks that so 
small a quantity as a bushel to 
the acre has produced good ef- 

Governor Hammond, of South 
Carolina, one of the most suc- 
cessful, as well as intelligent 
planters the South has ever had, 
was accustomed to boat lime, in 
the condition of shell-marl, twelve 
miles up the Savannah river, for 
the use of his plantation, and ap- 
ply it at the rate of 200 bushels 
per acre. The writer has wit- 
nessed on his light, sandy, pine 
. lands, thus limed, a yield of 38 
bushels of corn to the acre, while 
the same kind of land in an ad- 
jacent field, not limed, would 
scarcely average 10 bushels. — 
These statements show, at once, 
the importance of lime as a fer- 
tilizer, and the marked difference 
in the quantity which experience 
has shown to be best suited to the 
soil and climate of the several 
countries mentioned, and points 
out the necessity for a thorough 
understanding of the whole sub- 
ject, in order to a judicious ap- 
plication of it. To apply to the 
loose and sandy soil of Flanders, 
the 200 or 300 bushels, per acre, 
which the Englishman finds de- 

sirable on his compact clay lands, 
or on his cold and tenacious heath 
meadows, would be a sad mis- 

Enough has been said to show 
that, comparatively, large quan- 
tities of lime are found to be use- 
ful in the experience of all these 
countries, where scientific agri- 
culture has successfully worked 
out the highest practical results; 
but each individual must reflect 
for himself upon the principles 
involved, and upon their applica- 
tion to his particular case. It 
may be said, in a general way, 
that larger portions may be pro- 
fitably added to stiff and heavy 
clays, than to light and sandy 
localities — to wet and marshy 
lands, than to dry and mellow 
regions, to deep rich loam, in 
which vegetable matter abounds, 
than to poor and exhausted fields. 
Indeed, as the primary object of 
using lime is to digest the or- 
ganic substances already present, 
rather than to act as food for the 
plant, there being generally 
enough for that purpose naturally 
in the soil, it becomes a point of 
the first importance to have this 
organic matter abundantly pres- 
ent, and wherever this con- 
dition is fully met, as by the 
roots, grass and leaves of freshly 
cleared ground, or by green ma- 
nures ploughed in, or by barn-yard 
composts, we may confidently use 
the lime with a liberal hand, but 
if these conditions be not com- 
plied with, damage and disap- 
pointment will follow, instead of 
the rich rewards anticipated. — 
More lime, also, may be safely ap- 
plied in cold, than hot climates, 
and to land subject to deep til- 


Lime as a Fertilizer. 


lage, than where ploughing is al- 
ways shallow: for it is plain that 
a less quantity will suffice to sup- 
ply the soil, if only four inches 
deep, than if it be ploughed 12 
inches. Wherever, then, a sys- 
tem of high culture is proposed, 
both theory and practice suggest 
that we begin at first with a heavy 
liming, proportioning the quantity 
to the quality of the soil, and es- 
pecially to the amount of or- 
ganic matter it contains, and that 
this be followed at the close of 
every rotation of crops, embra- 
cing a period of several years each, 
with lighter limings. The Flem- 
ish rule, which gives the smallest 
quantity of any of the examples 
quoted above, requires 10 or 12 
bushels, per acre, at the close of 
every three years, making an 
average of 3 or 4 bushels an- 
nually. This in Flanders yields 
the best results for the investment. 
In France and England, experi- 
ence has indicated a much larger 

It need scarcely be added that 
the ultimate net profits of liming 
must depend, among other things, 
upon the cheapness and facility 
with which lime can be procured 
at the required locality. 

All these points must be care- 
fully weighed, if we would ac- 
curately balance the account of 
loss and gain. 

But one thing is certain, that 
we of the desolated South are 
hopelessly ruined as an agricul- 
tural people, if we do not now 
avail ourselves promptly of all 
those artificial aids which are ap- 
plicable to our case, and which 
have combined to make other 
countries agriculturally great. — 

The same practical wisdom, ener- 
gy and earnestness which have 
made the marshes and sandy 
plains of Flanders the garden of 
Europe, can convert the abused 
and wasted regions of the South 
back again to even more than 
their primeval fertility and beauty. 

The mode of application, like 
the question of quantity, depends 
much upon circumstances. 

If the application is to be made 
to clay or boggy and peaty lands, 
or to such as have large supplies 
of inert vegetable matter, the 
lime should be slaked quickly and 
applied immediately, in a caustic 
state. When it is required on 
lighter lands, it should be "air- 
slaked," or allowed to slake slow- 
ly and spontaneously, by absorb- 
ing moisture from the atmosphere , 
as this gives it in a finer powder 
and somewhat milder form, and 
therefore, less liable to injure the 
tender herbage. But for general 
purposes, especially where the 
soil is light and poor, it is best 
that the lime should be well com- 
posted with rich vegetable mould, 
or such decayed vegetable matter 
as may be available: in this form 
it can be more regularly scattered, 
and its caustic power being some- 
what masked in the compost, it is 
less liable to do injury, at the same 
time that it acts more promptly 
and efficiently upon the growing 
crop; this increased efficiency in 
the composted state is due to the 
fact that the digestive processes 
which lime ordinarily carries on 
in the soil, have already begun in 
the compost heaps, thus offering 
food for ready absorption. On 
this account, too, the longer it 
has been in this state the more 


Lime as a Fertilizer. 


fertilizing it becomes. It may be ad- 
ded also, with beneficial results to 
composts of fresh animal matters, 
as it so controls the fermenting 
process as to cause the valuable 
elements to form compounds 
which are not subject to evapora- 
tion, while, if lime had not been 
present, these same elements 
would have entered into combina- 
tions which are highly volatile 
and liable to escape: it should 
never be mixed, however, with 
animal manures which are already 
decomposed, as it expels the gase- 
ous fertilizers existing in the mass 
before the lime is added. When 
properly composted with vegeta- 
ble or animal matter, lime may 
be applied just as any other rich 
manure directly to the growing 
crop, whether it be tender grass, 
or clover, or grains of any kind: 
but if it is to be applied in the 
condition of slaked lime it will not 
produce its full effect at once upon 
the soil, and, therefore, as long an 
interval as possible should inter- 
vene between its application and 
the planting of the crop which it 
is intended to benefit— as, for in- 
stance, in the early fall for the 
benefit of winter and spring 

Some authorities, as Waring's 
Elements of Agriculture, and the 
American Muck Book, by Browne, 
with much plausibility, urge the 
use of a "lime and salt mixture" 
as containing more valuable qual- 
ities, both for manuring and di- 
gesting, than lime itself. This 
mixture is obtained by slaking 
fresh burnt-lime with water tho- 
roughly saturated with salt, using 
the materials in the proportion of 
three bushels of lime to one of salt. 

The lime decomposes the salt, 
giving us chloride of lime and car- 
bonate of soda, both valuable 
agents in promoting the fertility 
of the soils. To secure the more 
perfect combination of the lime 
and salt, the brine should not all 
be applied at once , but at inter- 
vals of a day or two, in order to 
give time for the changes to take 
place more thoroughly; and even 
after the slaking is completed, ten 
or twelve days should elapse be- 
fore the mixture is used. There 
can be no doubt of the value of 
this compound, especially in cases 
where salt would be a desirable 
manure on its own account. 

For evident reasons lime, when 
intended to benefit the land gen- 
erally, should always be as evenly 
distributed, and as thoroughly in- 
corporated with the soil as possi- 
ble: it should not, however, be 
ploughed in very deeply as it has 
naturally a constant tendency to 
descend in the soil ; and because, 
also, while near the surface, it is 
more easily reached by the air, 
which is essential to those diges- 
tive functions which constitute its 
chief value. 

When quick-lime is added in 
large quanties to soils naturally 
wet, and which have not been 
sufficiently drained, the lime may 
form into a mortar, and become 
hardened to such a degree as to 
obstruct the free passage of wa- 
ter and air, as well as of the roots 
of the plants. Under such cir- 
cumstances, of course, the lime 
would be an injury, and the rem- 
edy for the evil, thorough drain- 
ing. On soils which are light, dry 
and poor in vegetable matter, a 
heavy application of pure lime 


lAme as a Fertilizer. 


would also prove injurious by- 
rendering the land too open, and 
by its chemical effects causing the 
crop to " burn" as it is called. — 
In each of these cases, if the lime 
be added in a well composted 
state, all the evil consequences 
are at once averted, at the same 
time that additional supplies of 
warmth and nourishment are giv- 
en to stimulate the growth of veg- 
etation. Indeed, the opinion is 
maintained by some that lime 
may be indefinitely added without 
injury, provided we, at the same 
time, proportionally increase the 
organic elements of the soil. — 
Whether this be correct or not, 
it is certainly true that what is 
ordinarily spoken of as the ex- 
hausting effect of lime, is only the 
effect of the larger crops which it 
causes the soil to yield, and 
which, of course, requires more 
of the elements of the soil for its 
growth and maturity — what is 
needed under such circumstances 
is not less lime, but more organic 
food. It frequently has happened 
that even so valuable a fertili- 
zer as lime has been wholly aban- 
doned in particular localities in 
consequence of unskilful applica- 
tions, or hasty inferences from par- 
tial experiments. Of course where 
nature abundantly supplies the 
soil with this important element, 
artificial additions would be waste 
of time and money. So, in like 
manner, when lime is applied, as 
in some parts of England, at the 
rate of from 40 to 60 bushels to 
the acre at the end of each rota- 
tion of crops, embracing a period 
of 4 or 5 years, it would be no ar- 
gument against the moderate use 
of this agent, if after a lapse of 

years, these large additions should 
produce no sensible effects what- 
ever in consequence of the soil 
having become fully saturated. — 
And, again, the time which is re- 
quired for uncomposted lime to 
take its effect upon the soil is a 
fruitful source of discouragement 
and often of the abandonment of 
this valuable fertilizer. An ex- 
perimental farmer, reporting his 
results for the first year writes, 
"I applied 100 bushels (of lime) to 
the acre on a corn stubble and 
planted again in corn, but saw 
very little profit to the crop." — 
In reference to the same soil and 
the same liming at the end of the 
third year he writes: "For the 
past two seasons I have mowed 
the finest of grass." Lime, though 
a most eiflcient and valuable fer- 
tilizer, is slow in developing its 
finest results — indeed it scarcely 
exhibits fully its true character, 
unless when applied in the com- 
posted state, till the second or 
third year after its application. 

Lime is also distinguished for 
the permanence of its effects as a 
fertilizer. There is known to 
chemists a mysterious power call- 
ed "disposing affinity," for the 
want of a better name, by which 
one substance while in the pres- 
ence of another, is induced or in- 
fluenced to enter into combina- 
tions which it would not form in 
the absence of the influencing 
body. This is the nature of many 
of the changes brought about in 
the soil by lime, and it is by 
virtue of this disposing power that 
it continues to act and retain 
its peculiar qualities as a fer- 
tilizer. The permanence of its 
action is further increased by its 


lAme as a Fertilizer. 


sliglit solubility; at the ordinary 
temperature it takes about 750 
pounds of water to dissolve one of 
lime even in tbe caustic state, 
and still less can be dissolved af- 
ter it has been acted on by the 
carbonic acid of the air. Thus it 
remains for a long time in the soil 
performing its important offices. 
It is said to produce sensible ef- 
fects upon the crop after the lapse 
of 20 or 30 years, and some insist 
that a good supply, once added to 
the soil, never wholly ceases to be 
felt. This persistence in the ef- 
fects of lime is a high merit, and 
one which insures to the farmer, 
sooner or later, if judiciously 
used, an ample interest upon his 

We have already seen that 
when lime is to be applied in the 
slaked condition, except in the 
case of stiff clays or rich vege- 
table mould, it should be slowly 
" air-slaked," because, in the lat- 
ter case, it is not only more com- 
pletely pulverized, but also of a 
milder character, as the caustic 
quality of about one-half of it is 
neutralized by combination with 
the carbonic acid of the air. As 
a labor-saving consideration, this 
slaking process should take place 
in the field, since, thereby, from 
one- fourth to one-half of the 
weight, and a large increase of 
the bulk, caused by the slaking, 
will be saved from transporta- 

To effect this it may be piled 
up in heaps and covered with 
earth in the field, and left till it 
completely crumbles to powder: 
the covering of earth protects it 
from heavy rains which might 
convert it into mortar, and also 

from too free access of air which 
tends to change it back into the 
state in which it was before it was 
burnt. "When prepared for dis- 
tribution this may be accomplish- 
ed by drawing it out from a cart 
into little heaps, from five to 
seven yards apart, and in quan- 
tities proportioned to the amount 
we desire to apply per acre, after 
which it can be evenly scattered. 
Some to accomplish the distribu- 
tion more regularly, check off the 
land into little squares of con- 
venient size, and apply a given 
quantity to each square. 

Such is a general statement of 
the facts that seem to be best es- 
tablished in regard to lime as a 

It may be useful, in conclusion, 
for convenient reference, to sum 
up the most important points of a 
practical character. 

Lime, then, is useful to the 
farmer as food for his crop — as a 
digester of the animal, vegetable, 
and mineral manures in his soil — 
as an absorbent, indirectly, of 
valuable manures from the at- 
mosphere — as a neutralizer of in- 
jurious acids and other poisonous 
compounds— as a pulverizer of 
his stiff clay soils, and as a gene- 
ral stimulant which improves both 
the quantity and quality of his 

The quantity of lime to be used 
depends on the character of the 
soil — on the abundance of organic 
matter — on the kind of cultiva- 
tion — on the character of the 
climate — on the quantity already 
present in the soil, and on the 
cost of lime in the market where 
it is used. 

The mode of application de- 


Lime as a Fertilizer. 


pends on the object chiefly aimed 
at. If to pulverize compact te- 
nacious day lands, the caustic, 
water- slaked condition is best; — 
if to act upon the mineral matter 
of lighter soils the milder, air- 
slaked form will do the work ; but 
if to digest organic matter, or to 
serve the general purposes of a 
manure to enrich the soil and 
give it warmth and energy — to 
stimulate the plant and promote 
a prompt development,or whatever 
else may be deemed necessary, 
the composted state is greatly 

Hence, every farmer should 
have his cattle-lots, and horse- 
stalls abundantly supplied with 
leaves, straw, grass and organic 
matter of every kind, to be 
trampled by his stock, and ulti- 
mately thrown into compost heaps 
with lime and vegetable mould, 
or peaty matter, which will ab- 

sorb all the gases that might 
otherwise escape. The quantity 
of lime for these purposes need 
not be great. We have seen that, 
though in many cases large 
amounts may be profitably ap- 
plied where it can be cheaply ob- 
tained, yet even very small quan- 
tities are highly useful, and ex- 
perience indicates that these small 
quantities, frequently repeated, 
are more beneficial than larger 
amounts applied but once. 

Let each farmer then do what 
he can, even if his efibrts are con- 
fined to a few acres, for the time 
has come when our people must 
abandon the old system of ex- 
tensive planting, and concentrate 
their time, energy, and means 
upon comparatively small areas of 
land, which, to be remunerative, 
must be stimulated to its highest 
capacity by all the appliances of 
science and art. 





"The Negro: Is he the progeny of 
Ham ? Has he a soul f Or is he a beast? 

<fcc., ct-C." 

When a quack comes into 
our cities, styling himself " King 
of Pain," and professing to 
cure all diseases, the simple 
are snared, and the wise — 
laugh. ' If he be a humbug, why 
not expose him?' ask the credu- 
lous of all doubters. ' The mul- 
titude flock to him, and if he be 
an impostor, the community will 
suffer, and it is the duty of our 
physicians to protect us, by ex- 
posing his false pretensions. Be- 
sides, he is making hundreds of 
dollars, where they make but one.' 
' All true, but cui hono ? the 
labor would be lost, for the easily 
duped are not likely to be in- 
fluenced by argument.' 

So we felt, when requested to 
review that shallowest, and most 
brazen of all quack effusions — 
" Ariel." But, it is urged, 
though the multitude of the 
duped will not be convinced, yet 
some may have their eyes opened 
to the true character of this dis- 
graceful production. And, there- 
fore, we make the attempt, — 
albeit, as one would shrink from 
dissecting a putrid carcass, so we 
shrink from running our pen 
through this farrago of corrup- 
tion, folly, blasphemy, conceit and 
impudence. We will notice 

1. His argument from Color. 
All Adam's descendants are 
white: but the negro is black: 
therefore not descended from 
Adam. Let us try this formida- 
ble weapon, and see how it 

cuts. Adam's descendants are 
white: but Indians are red; and 
as red is not white, as well as 
black is not white, therefore, 
Indians are not descended from 
Adam. But, per contra^ Adam, 
he tells us, signifies "red;" the 
name denoting the complexion. 
Therefore, his descendants are 
red. And therefore Indians, and 
other red races, are the sole de- 
scendants of Adam. Again. The 
universal characteristics of ne- 
groes are " black skins, kinky- 
heads, flat noses, and thick lips," 
and yet, such is their beauty, that 
it has produced tremendous re- 
sults! " that kind of beauty, that 
once seduced the sons of God, 
and brought the flood upon the 

Again. The negro was in the 
Ark. But only 8 souls were in 
the Ark — Xoah and his family. 
And as the negro is not descended 
from either of the sons of ISToah, 
he must have been in the Ark, 
not as a soul, but as a beast. — 
But how is it proved that the ne- 
gro is not descended from either 
of the sons of Noah? It is con- 
ceded by all that he did not de- 
scend from either Shem or Japhet. 
And it is argued, that neither did 
he descend from Ham. How? In 
this way. First, Ham himself 
could not have been a negro. — 
Neither his name nor the curse 
pronounced upon him proves it. 
The name Ham does not, prima- 
rily, signify hlacli, but granting 
that it does, yet the name could 
not determine his color. Why 




not? Because if it does, tlien 
Shem's and Japhefs names must 
also describe their color. This is 
his argument from the name. But 
as the color of Shem and Japhet 
was the usual, normal color, there 
was no reason why their names 
should describe their color; where- 
as, on the supposition — and loe 
make the supposition solely for the 
purpose of testing the loorth of Ms 
argument — that Ham's color was 
not the usual color, then there 
would be a propriety in his name 
describing that abnormal color. 
His argument from the curse is as 
worthless as that from the name — 
although it be admitted that 
neither name nor curse, in itself, 
proved Ham to be a negro. The 
curse upon Ham could not, he 
says, have blackened his skin, 
kinked his hair, and flattened his 
nose, because the curse on our 
first parents, the curse on the ser- 
pent, the curse on Cain, the curse 
of Jacob on Simeon and Levi, did 
not " blacken the skin, kink the 
hair, and flatten the nose!" So 
that if the same results do not fol- 
low all curses, that follow, or are 
said to follow, any one curse, then 
they do not follow this last, at all! 
Accordingly, as Adam, when said 
to be cursed, did not, like the ser- 
pent when cursed, crawl on his 
belly and eat dust all his days, so 
it is clear he was not cursed at all! 
Again. He says that Ham "could 
not have been turned into a ne- 
gro, for accidently seeing his fa- 
ther naked. Tremendous judg- 
ment for so slight an offence!" — 
This argument, if good for any- 
thing, would be equally good 
against the curse on Ham, or 
Canaan, to be "the servant of 

servants" for the crime of which 
he was guilty, exposing the na- 
kedness of his father; — and is thus 
a reflection upon that God who 
inspired the curse of Koah. Hav- 
ing seen the character of his rea- 
soning on Ham's name and curse, 
let us now see, secondly, his ar- 
gument against the negro being 
among Ham's descendants. We 
know, says he, where Ham and 
his descendants went, what coun- 
tries they peopled, and where 
they may be found at this day, 
and they all belong to the white 
race, with long, straight hair, 
high foreheads, high noses and 
thin lips, &c. He then endeavors 
to trace the course of two of 
Ham's sons, Mizraim and Canaan, 
but passes by the other two, Phut 
and Cush, the latter of whom is 
the father of the Cushites, (ren- 
dered Ethiopians about forty times 
in our English Bible,) to which 
stock the negro race belong: "Can 
the Cushite change his sldnP'' — 
" Cush shall soon stretch out her 
hands to God." "I will make 
mention of Eahab and Babylon to 
them that know Me: behold Phi- 
listia and Tyre, with Cush; this 
man was born there," &c. The 
infidel Gliddon himself says: 
" Kush, barbarian country, per- 
verse race, being the Egyptian 
designatory name and title of 
Negroes.''^ The Cushite, or ISTe- 
gro, then, is the descendant of 
Ham. But, says Ariel, once 
white, always white: Ham him- 
self was white, and therefore all 
his descendants must he white ;^ 
and so we find them, everywhere, 
all having long, straight hair, 
high foreheads, high noses and 
thin lips! Indeed! Then this is 




more than can be said of all 
Shem's descendants or JaplieVs 
either! Mr. Buckingham informs 
us, that the Arabs, near the Jor- 
dan, where the climate is intensely 
hot, have dark skins, flat features 
and coarse hair; and in the Hau- 
ran beyond, he found a family 
with negro features, a jet black 
complexion, and crisped hair, of 
whose genuiue Arab descent he 
could have no doubt. And Eozet 
says, that in Algiers there are 
many Arabs as black as negroes, 
and yet preserving all the charac- 
teristics of the Arab race. Bish- 
op Heber was surprised to find 
natives of India as black as Afri- 
can negroes. And an American 
Missionary, Mr. Rankin, states 
that one in six of the natives of 
Hindostan are as black as a full- 
blooded African. The Jews in 
Cochin and Malabar are so black 
as not to be distinguished from 
the other inhabitants. Ethiopians, 
according to the Greeks, denoted 
both an Asiatic and an African 
people. Homer speaks of them 
as a divided race of men, living 
in the extreme East and the ex- 
treme West, (Odyss. 1, 23-24,) 
and Herodotus distinguishes the 
Eastern Ethiopians in Asia from 
the Western Ethiopians in Africa 
by the straight hair of the former, 
and the curly hair of the latter. 
He says: " The Eastern Ethiopi- 
ans have their hair straight: those 
of Africa have their hair more 
crisp and curling than other 
men." " The Egyptians were of 
the opinion that the Colchians 
were descended from the troops 
ofSesostris: to this I myself was 
always inclined, because they are 
hlackj and have their hair short 

and curling.'' '" The circumstance 
of the Egyptian Priestess be- 
ing hlacJc, explains to us her 
Egyptian origin.''^ The Egyp- 
tians all lohite , says Ariel. "The 
Priestess being hlack, explains her 
Egyptian origin," says Herodo- 
tus! In the recently opened 
tomb of Shishak, King of Egypt, 
B, C. about 970, there are found 
in his depicted army exact repre- 
sentations of the genuine negro 
race, both in color, hair and phys- 
iognomy. At a meeting of An- 
thropologists at Paris, a few 
months since, M. Qaatrefages, 
one of the most eminent French 
savans, observed: "All travelers 
who have lived in countries where 
only the negro race dwelt, have 
remarked that sometimes children 
were born of paler color less dis- 
tant from the white type. This, 
said M. Quatrefages, is to be ex- 
plained by the influence of origin- 
al white ancestors, whose type re- 
appear exceptionally among their 
negro descendants. This re-ap- 
pearance of the ancestral type is 
what is called ativism; and as 
black children are never found 
among the white races, it must be 
inferred, that if the negroes de- 
scend from the whites, the whites 
do not descend from the negroes." 

We shall oppose, then, the tes- 
timonies of savans, historians, 
and intelligent travellers, to the 
reckless assertions of a bold ig- 
noramus. We consider, for a 

2. His argument from Mum- 
mies. To demonstrate, beyond 
all doubt, that negroes are not the 
descendants of Ham, Providence, 
it seems, moved in ah extraordi- 
nary manner, or inspired, the 




posterity of Mizraim, Ham's son, 
to resort to an extraordinary 
thing, viz: embalming the dead, 
so that after ages might have 
ocular proof of the complexion of 
Ham and his children, and thus 
the slander of the parentage of 
the negro he forever rebuked! 
" i^o other nation, as such, then 
or since, embalmed their dead." 
" The people of Mizraim alone, of 
all nations of the earth, did so." 
" Millions of mummied bodies 
have been exhumed this century, 
but not one negro has been found 
among them." Per contra, the 
distinguished Hugh Miller af- 
firms: "Kegro skulls of a very 
high antiquity have been found 
among the mummies of the an- 
cient kingdom of Egypt." Por- 
traits of the negro are found on 
Egyptian monuments, and their 
skulls among the Egyptian mum- 
mies, as the eminent Dr. Morton 
in his "Crania Egyptiaca," 
shews. The museums of Europe 
demonstrate to be true what 
Ariel recklessly denies. So far 
from embalming being confined to 
one people, it is a fact well es- 
tablished, that the Eomans, to 
some extent, embalmed; so did 
the ancient Peruvians, and the 
ancient inhabitants of the Canary 
Islands, and others. 

But even Ariel feels that he has 
gone too far. He adds this note, 
at the end of his pamphlet : 
" Some few kinky-headed negroes 
have been found embalmed on 
the Nile, but they were generally 
negro-traders from the interior of 
the country, and of much later 
dates!" Kinky-headed beasts 
embalmed ! Beasts trading in 
beasts, and trading with men! 

We consider 

3. His argument from Ethnolo- 
gy. He tells us, that the sons of 
Mizraim, after settling Egypt, 
went to Asia, " which was settled 
by them," and "gave names to 
different parts of the country, 
which they retain yet." "The 
sons of Mizraim were Hind, Sind, 
Zeng, Nuba, Kanaan, Kush, 
Kopt, Berber and Hebesh; and 
that they founded, amongst oth- 
ers, the nations of Hindoos, and 
Turks, is unquestioned and un- 
doubted by any intelligent schol- 
ar"!! Eor this wonderful infor- 
mation he refers us to the 
"Asiatic Miscellany," page 148, 
4to. But the Asiatic Miscellany, 
page 148, 4to., gives us these 
words: "IntheRozit ul Suffa it 
is written that God bestowed on 
Ham nine sons, Hind, Sind, Zeng, 
Nuba, Kanaan, Kush, Kopt, Ber- 
ber, and Hebesh ; and their chil- 
dren having increased to an im- 
mense multitude, God caused 
each tribe to speak a different 
language; wherefore they separa- 
ted, and each of them applied to 
the cultivation of their own 
lands." The Bible tells us that 
Ham had four sons, not nine, 
Cush, Mizraim, Phut and Canaan; 
and gives us also the descendants 
of Mizraim ; Ludim, Anamim, 
Lehabim, Naphtuhim, Pathrusim, 
Casluhim, Caphtorim. And yet 
the dreams of an Oriental Fable 
are to set aside the teachings of 
the Word of God! 

But this is not all. Not only 
the Hindoos, but the Saracens, 
the Scythians, the Turks, " the 
great Turko-Tartar Generals, 
Timour, Genghis Khan, Tamer- 
lane, the chivalrous, the noble 




Saladin, all these were the children 
of Ham "// Kow, his commen- 
tator, Adam Clarke, who is quite 
an authority with him, would 
have taught him better. " Ma- 
gog, says Clarke, supposed by 
many to be the father of the 
Scythians and Tartars, or Tatars, 
as the word should be written; 
and in Great Tartary many 
names are still found, which bear 
such a striking resemblance to the 
Gog and Magog of the Scriptures, 
as to leave little doubt of their 
identity." So, likewise, Calmet: 
" Magog, son of Japhet, and 
father as is believed of the Scyth- 
ians and Tartars, a name which 
comprehends the Getoe, the Goths, 
the Samaritans, the Sacoe, the 
Massagetoe and others. The Tar- 
tars and Muscovites possess the 
country of the ancient Scythians, 
and retain several traces of the 
names Gog and Magog." The 
Turanian stock, to which the 
Tatars, the Turks, belong, is a 
branch of the Japhetick, as the 
learned Bansen shews. 

In order to prove the impossi- 
bility of the negro being the de- 
scendant of Ham, that worthy and 
his posterity are exalted by Ariel 
to the highest pitch, so that the 
curse is transferred virtually to 
Shem and Japhet, they being 
made " servants of servants" to 
the illustrious Ham! "Ham— the 
maligned and slandered Ham — 
governed and ruled the world from 
the earliest ages after the flood, 
and for many centuries, and gave 
to it all the arts and sciences, 
manufactures and commerce, ge- 
ometry, astronomy, geography, 
architecture, letters, painting, 
music, &c., &c. !!" Ham-All-ogy! 
VOL. v.— NO. III. 

"VYe find even some Divines be- 
lievers in thisHam-all-ogy, ascrib- 
ing all the learning and wisdom of 
ancient Egypt to the children of 
Ham. It would be well for such 
to ponder the following facts r 
" There can be no doubt," says 
Kobinson's Calmet, "that Egypt 
was peopled from the East. We 
find Egypt peopled in the days of 
Abraham, and governed also by a> 
Pharaoh. There is reason to 
think that the posterity of Shem 
transmigrated into Egypt. Ap- 
pearances indicate that the first 
Pharaohs of Egypt spoke the lan- 
guage of Abraham, Jacob and 
Joseph; and that' Jehovah, the 
God of those Patriarchs, was not 
unknown to them." 

The HjjTcsos^ a warlike shepherd 
race, entered Egypt /ro7?i the East 
about 2,100 Before Christ, over- 
powered the country, and held it 
for 511 years. In so long a period, 
how greatly must the character of 
the country have changed, under 
the dominion of a foreign race! — 
The learned Encyclopoedia of 
Herzog has this significant state- 
ment: "The primitive language of 
Mizraim is now fully supplanted 
by the Arabian, just as its people 
also, by a long-continued inter- 
mixture, and by a subjection of 
nearly 1,200 years, under a second 
Hyksos dominion, has become al- 
most entirely Semitick." The 
language and the people of Ham 
almost entirely supplanted, in 
Egypt, by those of Shem! 

So much for the Ethnology and 
Ham-all-ogy of Ariel. The negro 
cannot be the descendant of Ham, 
says he, for if he were, " he would 
be our social, political and reli- 
gious equal." Are all the de- 
scendants oi Japhet our social, po- 
litical and religious equals? 
(to be continued.) 






On the retreat from Dalton, 
and a few days after the death of 
•General Polk, General Johnston 
walked out alone to the skirmish 
line, during a lull in the firing, in 
order to ascertain, as far as prac- 
ticable, the position and strength 
of the enemy. He came upon 
two soldiers in such earnest con- 
versation, that they did not hear 
his approach. One of them was 
a bronzed veteran of many a 
hard-fought field. The other was 
a raw recruit, one of the " new 
issue," as the phrase was. The 
veteran was laying down certain 
great principles in morals, and 
discoursed after this manner: 

"Kow, Jim, you've got some 
notions about serving your coun- 
i;ry, and thinking about nothing 
but your country. That's all 
well enough, but I tell you a 
fellow may as well look out a 
little for himself. Yesterday, I 
put my ritle to my shoulder and 
drew a bead on a Yankee, when 
I saw that he was tpo little, and 
his clothes would'nt fit me. So 
I waited till a fellow of about 
my own girth showed himself, 
when I took a sure aim upon him 
and here\s his hoots /" 

The old rcb's patriotism was 
about on a par with that of the 
loyal worshippers of the best 
Government the world ever saw. 
AVith all their love of country, 
they have managed " to look out 
a little for themselves," and have 
got in as Collectors, tax-gather- 
ers, internal revenue kites, or 
vultures of the Freedmen's Bu- 

reau. The evidences of shoddy, 
but patriotic wealth by which 
they are surrounded, bring up the 
old reb's exclamation, " here's 
his boots," yea, and the booty 

"VV" , of Harrisonburg, Va., 
was as brave and true a soldier, 
as he is an accomplished gentle- 
man. But Nature has given him 
very long and slender legs and it 
was not always possible to get a 
pair of pants, in the Quarter- 
master's scanty supply, of suffi- 
cient length for these attenuated 
extremities. One day, he drew a 
pair of pants, which were two 
feet too short, and as he passed 
by a line of soldiers, they seemed 
to be a good deal attracted by the 
appearance of the protruding ap- 
pendages. One fellow gazed so 

earnestly at the gallant W , 

that he became oftended, and said 
to the impertinent gazer, 

' ' I hope that you will know me 
next time." 

The man made no answer, and 

W stalked on indignantly, 

when he heard his tormentor re- 

"That must be a powerful 
brave man to venture out in the 
war on such a par (pair) of legs." 

Bev. E. C , near Washing- 
ton, D. C, tells an incident of a 
retreat of the army of our North- 
ern brethren, after one of the 
great disasters in Virginia. He 
heard a demoralized squad of blue 
coats recounting their adventures 


The Haversack. 


and misadventures, when one of 
them said, 

" Well, boys, there are only- 
two persons on the earth or under 
the earth, I fear, and they are 
Stonewall Jackson and the Devil!" 

We would, say editorially, to 
the speaker on this interesting 
occasion , it is well that children 
do not always inherit the terrible 
qualities of their parents; other- 
wise you would have to fear 
Stevens, Stanton, Bingham, and 
many other legitimate sons of the 
numerous family of the latter in- 
dividual, named above. 

Soon after the firing upon, and 
driving back of the Star of the 
West, in Charleston Harbor, in 
1861, two negroes were overheard 
talking about the event, in the 
cars between Branchville and 

Tom. Whar you bin, Jim? 

Jim. Down dar in Charleston 
trowing up de fortification. 

Tom. Was you dar, when dey 
bin titin'? 

Jim. Speck dis child was just 
thar, and no whar else. De 
Yankee ships, he come in mons- 
trous, saucy like. Den our boys, 
dey shoots at 'em, when the big 
ship cut dirt and run. Ky, how 
he run! 

Tom. Was you skeered, Jim, 
when dey was shootin' de big 

Jim. Skeered? Bless the Lord, 
no. Dey was shootin'' toder way I 

There are a great many brave 
people after the manner of poor 
Jim, when the shooting is the 
other way. The Jacobin rebels 
who never faced a Southern foe, 
are now fierce and warlike, when 

the shooting is all in their own 
hands, and no balls are thrown 

The Eev. Mr. D., of Harrison- 
burg, Va., gives the next anec- 

In the summer and fall of 1861, 
it was the misfortune of quite a 
number of young men, who wore 
the grey jacket, to be stationed 
for many weeks upon Yalley 
Mountain in West Virginia. No- 
body who was there can ever for- 
get how the rain poured down 
day and night through all those 
dreary weeks, and how the only 
"tap" for the poor soldier was 
the water, which ftll upon those 
everlasting hills. " Eations were 
scanty and corn meal the order of 
the day." Surgeon C, of the 
2 1st Virginia regiment, was sit- 
ting at his tent door on one of 
those bleak, gloomy days, won- 
dering if the rain would never 
cease, wondering if we would 
finally succeed in whipping the 
Yankees, when a Tennessee lieu- 
tenant came along looking the 
very picture of woe. Rumor said 
that the lieutenant was too fond 
of his cups, when at home, but 
here he was of necessity a mem- 
ber of a Total Abstinence Society. 
The Doctor, a wag in his way, 
and at all times ready and willing 
to beguile an idle hour with chat, 
calls in the lieutenant and enters 
into a conversation with him. — 
The subject uppermost in the 
minds of soldiers naturally came 
up, and the length of the war and 
its probable results were fully dis- 

" Well, lieutenant," said the 
surgeon, " after this much ex- 


The Haversack. 


perience in the army, ■what do 
you think of war?" 

The lieutenant looked out on 
the falling torrents, and visions of 
a cosy room at home, and de- 
canters and glasses passed before 
him, heaving a deep sigh, he an- 

" I am no military man, doc- 
tor, and therefore am not able to 
express any opinion upon military 
matters, &uf I regard the war as 
the most gigantic temperance move- 
ment the world ever saio /" 

An Ex-Chaplain, now residing 
at Shelbyville, Tennessee, gives 
the anecdote below: 

On the campaign in West Vir- 
ginia, the infantry were fond of 
cracking their jokes at the ex- 
pense of the cavalry. They in- 
sinuated pretty plainly that the 
cavalry had to be brought on by 
degrees and gradually made ac- 
customed to fire-arms by first pop- 
ing caps, then putting in blank 
cartridges, and finally allowing 
balls to be slipped into their rifles. 

Capt. N., now living in Win- 
chester, Tennessee, tells how he 
was victimized by the infantry. 
He was riding by Donelson's 
Tennessee brigade of infantry 
with a long clanking sabre, when 
he was accosted by a little fellow 
in the ranks, who was carrying a 
knapsack almost as big as him- 

" Mister, I'm most dead toting 
this knapsack, it's powerful heavy, 
it is, Mister, if youHl tote it for 
me, IHl let you pop one of my 
capsl'''' B. 

From Winchester, Ya., we get 
an anecdote of one of the bravest 

men who ever breathed the breath 
of life: 

The Exile's Komance.— There 
is no man, however practical and 
prosaic, who is not moved when 
he is brought face to face with 
some of the grand scenes of Na- 
ture. In proof of this, I will re- 
late an actual occurrence. Two 
years ago, I visited Niagara Ealls 
with a distinguished Confederate 
General, now an exile — one whose 
name would recall a hundred bat- 
tle-fields. Now, though the Gen- 
eral was a superb soldier, he had 
never been accused of poetry and 
romance, and I was curious to 
see what effect Dame Nature 
would have on his unromantic 
temperament. He and I went 
under the Falls to get a better 
view, and it was while impressed 
by the sublime spectacle there 
presented that I watched him 
most particularly. For five min- 
utes neither of us spoke. The ro- 
mance in the General's nature 
had been stirred up at last. He 
stood silent and thoughtful, his 
eyes beaming with lustre as they 
used to beam in the days of battle ; 
his whole soul seemed to drink in 
the glorious picture. Suddenly, 
above the roar of the Falls, I 
heard his shrill voice, " Oh that 
that old water-fall could be turned 
over to the other side and sweep 
off the whole Yankee Nation. — 
What a blessing for humanity it 
would be!" t. 

It seems from this anecdote that 
nature inspires men in different 
ways, but we still see the truth of 
the maxim, "the ruling passion 
strong in death." 

Many of our Trans- Mississippi 


The Haversack. 


readers have never heard the 
anecdote of General Milroy, U. 
S. A., and John Arnold's cow, 
and we therefore repeat it, though 
it has often been told, and rather 
because it is necessary to the full 
understanding of a recent ad- 
venture of the same distinguished 

While the notorious General 
was in command, at Winchester, 
Va., he issued an order for the 
seizure of rebel hay, fodder, corn, 
&c. A party of soldiers came to 
carry off a small hay rick, be- 
longing to one John Arnold, a 
poor man, but true as steel in his 
love for the South. His daughter 
went to Milroy to beg for the hay. 
That chivalrous soldier answered. 

"You shall not have it, unless 
your father will take the oath." 

"That he won't do," replied 
the spirited girl. The colloquy 
took something of the following 

Gen. Milroy, U. S. A. " Take 
the oath and keep the hay." 

Miss Arnold. " Can't take the 
oath and the cow will starve this 
winter without the hay." 

Gen. Milroy, U. S. A. " Let 
her starve, the rebellion must be 

Miss Arnold. " Well, General, 
if you expect to suppress the re- 
bellion, by starving John Ar- 
nold's cow, you may, and be 
hanged to you!" 

The great soldier took, as his 
head- quarters , in Winchester, the 
elegant mansion of Mr. Logan, 
and during his occupation, Mr. 
Logan's spoons and piano disap- 
peared in a mysterious manner. 
The man of much booty, how- 
ever, was roused up one morning 

with the pleasant intelligence 
that Ewell and Early were upon 
him. Mounting a swift horse, he 
retired with something like the 
speed of Schenck, from Vienna, 
or Lew. Wallace from the Mon- 
ocacy. Years rolled by, John 
Arnold's cow lived, but the re- 
bellion died. Milroy returned to 
the scene of his former glory, but 
the piano and the spoons return- 
ed not. Milroy, the great mili- 
tary chieftain, thought he would 
become Milroy the great orator 
and statesman, and he made a 
speech to the people of Winches- 
ter, advising them to accept the 
mild, just, and equitable meas- 
ures of Reconstruction proposed 
by the patriotic Congress of the 
best Government the world ever 
saw. The people of Winchester 
came to hear Milroy, and Milroy 
was compelled to hear the people 
of Winchester. The speech had 
some interruptions and comical 

Milroy. "I am more accustom- 
ed to fight than to speak." 

1st Auditor. "Where's Ewell." 

2nd Auditor. " Hurry up. 
General, Early is coming." 

Milroy. "Congress in its wis- 
dom has proposed certain meas- 
ures as conditions precedent to 
your restoration to the glorious 

3rd Auditor. "What meas- 
ures has Congress taken about 
John Arnold's cow?" 

4th Auditor. "What meas- 
ures for the restoration of Mr. 
Logan's piano?" 

5th Auditor. " Has Congress 
said anything about restoring Mr. 
Logan's spoons?" 

Amid pleasant inquiries of this 


The Haversack. 


sort the noble Milroy struggled 
on. The rattle of squibs around 
him, however, did tell upon his 
nerves. He would raise both 
hands above him and atttempt to 
articulate, but no words would 
come. At length a broadside 
came, which brought him down 
as well as the house. An Irish- 
man, on the extreme edge of the 
crowd, cried out in a clear, dis- 
tinct voice, which was heard 
above the uproar, " faith, Giner- 
al, we've had enough of yer 
spaach, now bring out Mrs. Lo- 
gan's piano and play us a tune!" 

Maj. G., of Staunton, Virginia, 
gives an anecdote of Stonewall 

After the first battle of Fred- 
ericksburg, the General was rid- 
ing with one of his Division 
commanders past an encampment 
at Corbin's Neck. The weather 
was horrible, and the men , with- 
out tents and with but few blank- 
ets, were stretched upon the 
ground, trying to keep warm be- 
fore the log fires. The General's 
companion was deeply impressed 
with the suffering of the soldiers, 
and said with much feeling, "poor 
devils, poor devils." General J. 
instantly correcting him, said, 
"call them suffering angels." 

This was the opinion held of 
the Southern soldiery by Jackson, 
the man of prayer. Butler, the 
man of spoons, and the old negro- 
traders of the South, call them 

The sister of a distinguished 
cavalry general sends us the fol- 
lowing anecdote from Vicksburg: 

After the fall of New Orleans 

my brother-in-law and family 
found a refuge in Jackson, Miss., 
where, purchasing a cottage in 
the suburbs, he made an effort to 
surround his family with the com- 
forts of home, and to be in a 
measure self-subsistent, provided 
himself with cows, horses, poul- 
try, &c. Feeling the war was to 
be of some duration, he also pur- 
chased supplies which he hoped 
to last him for a year or two. — 
Quietly settled there, of course one 
of the most intense anxieties was to 
learn "the news." Every day the 
newspapers were eagerly devour- 
ed, or refugees questioned by the 
ladies of the family; and the out- 
rages of the yankees, the burning 
and sacking of houses, the equip- 
ping themselves in ladies' clothing, 
tearing and destroying children's 
and babies' clothes were recapitu- 
lated to my brother-in-law. He 
being a man full of chivalry and 
tenderness towards women and 
children listened, but with an evi- 
dently doubting spirit, or would 
sometimes laugh at our credulity. 
But at last, on that memorable 
14th of May, 1863, Gen. Grant 
made his appearance, with his 
army, at Jackson. Believing, as 
did almost every one, that it must 
be a mistake, that the yankees 
were not coming to Jackson, my 
brother-in-law remained until the 
lest moment, until shell were fall- 
ing almost in the yard, when, be- 
ing just outside our fortifications, 
he had to hurry his family into 
the carriage, in a hard rain, and 
leaving everything, took refuge in 
town, where there was at least 
safety from shot and shell. Three 
days afterwards, when the . yan- 
kees had finished their work of 




burning and pilfering, and set 
their faces towards Yicksburg, 
my brother-in-law went out to 
look and see what was left to him. 
Not a vestige of any thing mov- 
able remained; his wife's and 
children's clothes were gone or 
torn into ribbons, the house was 
stripped, the provisions gone, ex- 
cept half a barrel of sugar, which 
was polluted by them. An old 
negro man, who remained faith- 
ful, reported they had several 
times set fire to the house, which 
he extinguished; they had washed 
their feet over the cisterns, letting 
the water run into them, and 
killed every living thing except 

one hen, which had escaped by 
hiding in the grass, and about fif- 
teen chickens of from a week or 
two to a few days old, which were 
the remains of a hundred and fifty 
of the same ages. These were all 
trying to follow the old hen, who, 
under the circumstances, must 
have had a yankee cross in her,, 
as she was pecking at them, while- 
they were shying around with a 
truly orphan air. As he looked 
around upon the desolation I ask- 
ed him what he thought of the 
yankees now? He gave a glance 
around and said, " I don't believe 
there is a man living damned' 
enough liar to tell the truth about 
them !^'> 


The English satirist called the 
Radical of the French Revolution 
monkey-tiger — at one moment en- 
gaged in fantastic tricks and the 
next lapping up blood like water. 
The epithet was eminently appli- 
cable to the Jacobin of France, 
but may be applied with still more 
pertinence to the Jacobin of 
America. The French Jacobin 
drank toasts and sang songs in 
honor of liberty, equality and fra- 
ternity, and then ordered a few 
hundred thousands to be shot, a few 
hundred thousands to be drowned, 
and a few hundred thousands to 
be beheaded. The American Jac- 
obin sings songs about John 
Brown's soul, and is as playful as 
a young ape, till the time comes 
for decreeing the utter ruin of ten 
States, and the lingering death of 

four millions of negroes. The 
war shut us off from a practical 
acquaintance with the American 
Jacobin, during the administra- 
tion of the man, who went to 
Washington's bosom from Ford's 
Theatre, but we learn that the 
American Jacobin, for all that 
period, was alternately engaged 
in murder and monkey tricks. — 
He could be seen with pious care 
draping church — steeple and pul- 
pit — with the beautiful " flag of 
the nation," and then with soft 
step and humble mien, he would 
ascend the ornamented pulpit and 
pray to a God of mercy to afflict 
the South until husband and fa- 
ther could see despair in the eyes 
of his wife and hear the wail of 
starvation from the lips of his 
children. At one time, in a play- 




ful mood, he would insert secular 
songs in hymn books and political 
speeches in volumes of prayers; 
then he would incite to house- 
burning, pillage and plundering, 
and even to starving prisoners. — 
The monkey and tiger were so 
equally divided in his nature that 
it was impossible to say whether 
the Jacobin did more foolish 
things or more wicked ones. But 
it was always noticeable that hia 
fun and his jokes ended invariably 
in blood. 

There is, since the war, the 
same nice adjustment of monkey 
and tiger in the Jacobin rebel of 
America. With inimitable hu- 
mor, he declares that life and 
property are insecure in the South. 
So far the monkey. But this " lit- 
tle joke" is accompanied with cer- 
tain measures which to execute 
requires the ferocity of the tiger 
rending his victim. One of the 
monkey tricks to amuse the pub- 
lic is a heavy appropriation for a 
burial corps, whose duty it is to 
provide suitable coffins, graves 
and head boards for the Irish, 
German, English, French, Span- 
ish, Italian, Indian and African 
soldiers, who gave their lives " to 
save the life of the nation." But 
while this patriotic clap-trap de- 
ceives no one, and only suggests 
that these men need not have 
died, and would not have died, 
had the monkey-tiger never lived, 
there are thousands who remem- 
ber the tiger- cruelty of forbidding 
any record to be kept of Confed- 
erate graves at Baltimore, so that 
their friends might never reclaim 
their dust. 

The same curious blending of 
monkey and tiger seems to charac- 

terize all the acts of the Jacobin 
rebels. Childish frolic is followed 
by blood-thirsty acts. Puerile, 
undignified amusement is the pre- 
lude to the most fiendish acls of 
oppression. Thus the frivolous, 
absurd charges trumped up against 
the President appears to be only 
the fun of a set of half-grown 
boys, but they meant the over- 
throw of the Government of our 
fathers, and the striking down of 
two of the coordinate departments 
of the Federal system. Thus we 
fancy we hear the hand-organ 
playing, and see the monkey dan- 
cing and picking up coppers, 
when the Chicago Convention 
playfully and jocosely says, "this 
Convention declares its sympathy 
with all the oppressed people, who 
are struggling for their rights!!" 
It is a rich and racy joke, and 
was doubtless hugely enjoyed by 
the humorous gentlemen, who 
perpetrated it. But we see the 
crouching tiger gnashing his 
teeth, as well as the monkey dan- 
cing round the hand-organ. This 
sympathy with the oppressed 
means Freedmen's Bureau and 
its swarm of unclean animals. — 
It means degradation of the white 
race and exaltation of the black. 
It means military domination, 
garrisons of soldiers every where, 
unequal taxation, favoring the 
rich and grinding the poor. It 
means the persecution for all time 
of as brave and as noble a people 
as the sun ever shone upon. It 
means the turning into a wilder- 
ness the fairest portion of the 
land. It means the total destruc- 
tion of all the products of the 
South, upon which the prosperity 
of the whole nation depends. — 




It means the erection of a huge 
centralized despotism, which shall 
dictate to the people what reli- 
gious worship they shall observe, 
what amusements they shall en- 
joy, what food they shall eat, 
what clothing they shall wear, 
and what fluids they shall drink. 
It means intolerance in all 
things, crushing out all sem- 
blance of opposition in speech and 
thought to ' ' the party of great 
moral ideas." 

These immaculate men are just 
now in a sad strait. They have 
been tinkering at the work of re- 
construction for three years, when 
it could have been accomplished 
in a day, by justice and magna- 
nimity. Now when the grand 
work has been accomplished, they 
do not know whether to approve 
or condemn their own labor of 
three years. They are doubtful 
whether they can trust the ne- 
groes, still more doubtful whether 
they can trust the old nullifiers 
and negro-traders, who manip- 
ulated the loyal Conventions. — 
These old rebels betrayed the 
loyal North, then they betrayed 
the rebellious South, then they 
betrayed Mr. Johnson, who gave 
them posts of trust and honor. 
May they not betray the saints 
next fall, when the Democracy 
will be sweeping everything be- 
fore them. Ah! there is danger, 
there is danger! 

Another thing, too, is alarming. 
The Constitutions framed in these 
Fetich Conventions, by negro- 
traders, bankrupts , swindlers, and 
adventurers, have in all of them 
an element of repudiation. They 
show plainly the animus of the 
loyal men of the South, and it is 

not a very amiable one in the 
eyes of the loyal North. The be- 
ginning of repudiation will be 
like the letting out of the great 
waters — a small leak at first, but 
soon overwhelming the whole 
land in a sweeping flood. Let it 
once start in the South, and the 
payment of the national debt 
will be the easiest job imaginable. 
The Jacobin rebels have had their 
fun over the negro orgies at the 
South. The hand-organ played, 
and the monkeys danced. With 
profound gratitude to the Author 
of all good, we venture to pre- 
dict that the tiger part of the 
play will never take place. The 
great Democratic party has looked 
on with profound disgust at the 
farce. It will step in and forbid 
the tragedy. 

It is impossible for the Editor 
of this Magazine to have a news- 
paper controversy of a personal 
character, with Mr. E. A. Pol- 
lard, however ardently he may 
desire the distinction of being 
thus noticed. The author of a 
pretended history could be ex- 
posed in these columns without 
impropriety, but it would be un- 
dignified to allude to the man. 
The February number, which 
pointed out the blunders, mis- 
representations, and slanders of 
the so-called history of Mr. E. A. 
Pollard, contained no personali- 
ties about that individual himself, 
save that having occupied a bomb- 
proof during the war, and never 
having seen a battle-field, he was 
an unfit person to describe all the 
hundreds of battle-fields of the 
war. He has replied to this 
number in a very scurrilous arti- 




cle in the Kew York News , full 
of personalities as gross as they 
are untrue. If he were as well 
known everywhere as he is in his 
native State, and especially in 
Richmond, where he has longest 
resided, it would be useless to re- 
pel his slanders, his own charac- 
ter does that sufficiently. But as 
he is not thus well-known, it may- 
be proper to show how very un- 
scrupulous he is in private mat- 
ters, that the world may see how 
wholly unfit he is to play the part 
of the historian. 

In this article, Mr. E. A. Pol- 
lard says : " But seriously, no 
one knew better than D. H. Hill, 
at whose procurement, and from 
whose affectionate supplies of in- 
formation the writer consented to 
make a memoir of his deeds, and 
include it in his book, (Lee and 
His Lieutenants.) Until these 
persuasions, he had decided to 
omit the hero of Bethel from his 
list of biographies." 

Now, Mr. E. A. Pollard knew 
that this was wholly untrue. He 
first sent me a circular asking in- 
formation about my early life, and 
of the battles I had been in, &c. 
I did not notice the circular at all. 
He then wrote himself, repeating 
the substance of the circular, and 
urging me to give the desired in- 
formation. To this letter, I re- 
plied, declining to give him any 
incidents in my life, and politely, 
but firmly forbidding him to in- 
corporate my biography in his 
" Lee and His Lieutenants." — 
Kor did I, for a single moment, 
suspect that it was there until 
after the publication of the book. 
The pretended historian, who is 
so regardless of truth in matters 

of personal, and therefore, sub- 
ordinate, importance, is not to be 
entrusted with the momentous 
interests of a nation. The Con- 
federacy deserves to have a man 
of truth as her annalist. 

Spite of the "afiectionate sup- 
plies of information " given to 
Mr. E. A. Pollard, he calls me a 
"female school-master." This 
was intended as a disparagement 
and an insinuation that there was 
something unmanly in the calling 
of a teacher, though he knows 
very well that Stonewall Jackson, 
Rodes, and very many of the 
bravest officers in both armies had 
made teaching their vocation. 
My self-constituted biographer 
ought to have known too, that 
my connection with a school was 
with the one, over which Lee now 
presides, and that I was never a 
teacher in a primary school, 
whether male or female. How- 
ever, as Lee, Meade and Stone- 
wall Jackson have been associated 
with schools in time of peace, the 
world will hereafter regard the 
position of a teacher as honorable 
as the bomb-proof, which Mr. E. 
A. Pollard occupied in time of 

In one sense of the word, Mr, 
E. A. Pollard has received from 
me " abundant supplies of infor- 
mation." As Editor of The 
Land We Love, I have collected 
sketches of Confederate Generals, 
and numerous anecdotes and in- 
cidents of the war, which Mr. E. 
A. Pollard has appropriated 
bodily, article after article, page 
by page, word for word, without 
asking my permission, without 
quotation marks and without any 
acknowledgment whatever, of 




the source from which he got 
them!! If the supplies have not 
been "affectionate," the appro- 
priation of them has at least been 

The Cincinnati Enquirer and 
Louisville Courier exposed Mr. E. 
A. Pollard's gross plagiarism 
from Duke's "Life of Morgan." 
Colonel Henry K. Douglass ex- 
posed a like theft of an article of 
his in the Old Guard. But the 
most stupendous, wholesale pla- 
giarism, ever perpf^trated in the 
literary annals of the world, is 
the stealing of Mr. E. A. Pollard 
from The Land We Love. It 
is monstrous, and unprecedented 
in the vast amount stolen, mons- 
trous and unprecedented in the 
shameless and bare-faced manner 
in which it has been done. Let 
the reader compare the sketches 
in The Land We Love, of 
Polk, A. P. Hill, Cleburne, and 
Price, with the same in " Lee and 
His Lieutenants," and then let 
him notice that all the anecdotes 
of Lee, Early, &c., have been 
taken out of the Haversack of 
The Land We Love, and he 
will form some idea of the char- 
acter of Mr. E. A. Pollard. The 
question is submitted to the can- 
did reader whether the man, who 
is so unscrupulous in regard to 
taking that which belongs to 
another, would have any hesita- 
tion about misrepresenting the 
facts of history. It is the more 
unpardonable, because committed 
by the man, who had so grossly 
slandered me in his pretended 
history. It is adding theft of 
property to attempted theft of 
In "Lee and His Lieutenants," 

and in this article in the Ifews, 
Mr. E. A. Pollard sneers at my ^ 
literary claims. However morti- 
fying this unfavorable opinion of 
the great plagiarist may be to my 
self-love, I will frankly forgive 
him, if he will only promise not to 
borrow any more from my literary 

Mr. E. A. Pollard bravely says 
of himself "as to any personal 
care in the matter, he has never 
feared critical attacks, with pis- 
tols or without pistols. Wise or 
otherwise," &c. The world has 
never been disposed to honor the 
man, who boasts of his own cour- 
age. I have been in two wars 
and in as many engagements as 
Mr. E. A. Pollard has years upon 
his head, and yet I have never 
felt that I had any right to boast 
of that quality. Still, I have had 
grace giyen me to stay under fire 
till each fight had closed, while 
my observation was that the few 
bullies and braggadocios in the 
army left just before or just after 
the firing began. Most of thi& 
class, however, got into bomb- 
proofs and never heard the whis- 
tle of a ball, contenting them- 
selves with growling and barking 
at all, who were going to the 

Mr. E. A. Pollard frankly ac- 
knowledges that he writes for 
money. No fair-minded man can 
object to this. The objection is 
that he slanders for money, that 
he has produced a book, which 
Confederate oificers of every grade, 
from the highest to the lowest, 
and Confederate soldiers of every 
arm of the service, have pro- 
nounced a libel upon history. — 
Mr. E. A. Pollard cannot name a 




single respectable Confederate, 
who will declare that the book is 
worth the paper upon which it is 
written. But nothing can be said 
by any one half so damaging as 
the acknowledgment made by 
Mr. E. A Pollard himself that it 
was produced in five months. — 
The editorials of the Eichmond 
Examiner were pasted together 
with the sensational letters of 
army correspondents, and the 
medley was called the history of 
the "Lost Cause!" 

But to the matter in dispute. 
Mr. E. A. Pollard stated in his 
pretended history that a dispatch 
from Gen. Lee at Erederick, Md., 
and directed to me was thrown 
down by me in a fit of passion and 
thus fell into the hands of McClel- 
lan. I pronounced the allegation 
a slander and demanded proof 
from an eye-witness. So dramat- 
ic an incident must have been 
seen by some one, or else it could 
not have been reported without 
making up a fabrication from be- 
ginning to end. Any Court of 
Justice in the world would pro- 
nounce the allegation a slander, 
if it was not proved by an eye- 
loitness. Now what proof does 
Mr. E. A. Pollard bring up? He 
quotes from an English book and 
an English magazine! Whether 
he quotes correctly or not I do not 
know. This is all upon which to 
base as gross a slander as ever 
was uttered! Did the writer in 
the book or in the magazine wit- 
ness this petulant act of throwing 
down the dispatch? No, they 
got it from American sources, 
of course, — from the sensational 
army correspondents or from Mr. 

E. A. Pollard in his bomb-proof 
at Richmond. 

I deny that I threw down Lee's 
dispatch and demand the proof of 
an eye-witness. I could, with as 
much justice, be charged with be- 
ing engaged in the John Brown 

The matter, however, need not 
rest upon a simple denial. The 
Adjutant of my Division, Maj. 
J. W. Patchford, makes oath that 
no order came to us at Frederick 
from Lee direct. This living wit- 
ness ought to know as much 
about the matter as Mr. E. A. 
Pollard or the English writers. 

Gen. McClellan states that a 
dispatch from Lee and directed to 
me was found near Erederick. — 
There is no doubt whatever of 
the truth of the statement. But 
I deny that it was thrown down 
by me in a fit of passion, or 
that it was lost by my careless- 
ness, and I demand the proof 
for either of these allegations. 

In the article referred to I had 
occasion to expose either the ig- 
norance or prejudice of the pre- 
tended historian. I showed that 
he had omitted to mention my 
Division at Cold Harbor though 
it was one of the four heavily en- 
gaged, and there were but four. 
I showed that at Seven Pines, he 
gave Longstreet the credit of tak- 
ing Casey's works, when my Di- 
vision did it, and Longstreet had 
not a single man engaged. I 
showed a flat contradiction of 
Lee's Report of Malvern Hill and 
a suppression of a part of Lee's 
Report of Sharpsburg. I showed 
that he had falsely charged me 
with contumacious conduct at 
McLe More Cove and the proof 


Booh Notices. 


was a statement from that peer- 
less soldier, P. R. Cleburne. The 
story was a sheer fabrication out 
and out, and I appeal with con- 
fidence to Bragg, Buckner, Hind- 
man, any and all of the Army of 
Tennessee that it was never heard 
of till Mr. E. A. Pollard's book 
came out. 

It is idle to attempt to follow 
up so unscrupulous a man in any 
new slanders that he may put 
out. His last one is of miscon- 
duct, at Chickamauga. He knows 
that this is untrue. 

One more specimen of his utter 
unscrupulousness, and I am done. 
He says that I attribute his un- 
fairness to jealousy of Korth 
Carolina troops. There is not 
the slightest hint or intimation of 
such a thing in my article ! The 
division, whose services Mr. E. 
■ A. Pollard ignored, was composed 

of troops from Virginia, Georgia, 
Mississippi, Alabama, and IsTorth 
Carolina. My corps had not a 
single Korth Carolina regiment 
in it! Mr. E. A. Pollard has 
taken the trouble to make a state- 
ment, which is foolish, as well as 
untrue. I will not attempt to 
keep up with his future slanders. 
He may next connect me with the 
assassination of Mr. Lincoln. I 
feel sure that he is harmless, how- 
ever malignant. The American 
people will not respect the zealous 
advocate of the war, who crept 
into a bomb-proof when the bullets 
began to fly, snarled and snapped 
while there, alternately at Mr. 
Davis and Mr. Lincoln, at Con- 
federates and Federals, and then 
crawled out when the firing was 
over, to make money, by stealing 
the property and defaming the 
character of Confederate soldiers. 


Ante Bellum. Southern Life 

AS IT WAS. By Mary Lennox. 

Published by J. P. Lippincott 

& Co. Philadelphia: 

This volume is gotten up in 
Lippincott's usually beautiful 
style, and the contents are free 
from all immoral isms. 

The Employments of Women. 
A Cyclopedia of Woman's 
Work. By Virginia Penny. 
Walker, Wise & Co. Boston: 
This book supplies a want 

which has been felt for a long 

It seems sad to think that 

women should ever be compelled 
to earn their own living. Grod 
made one sex physically strong — 
the other weak — but here, as in 
other things, extremes meet. In 
barbarous nations, women are al- 
most on a level with beasts of 
burden — in those cities, such as 
Paris, which boast of the highest 
degree of civilization, the condi- 
tion of women, en masse, is scarce- 
ly any better. It is not a law of 
Nature that women should " eat 
bread in the sweat of her brow" — 
that curse was only pronounced 
upon man. 
But the cry for " work," comes 


Book Notices. 

[July, 1868. 

from all parts of this once happy 
land. "Give us work or we 
perish," is the heart-rending wail 
which arises from the homesteads 
of the South, where plenty once 
reigned. The husbands, fathers, 
brothers, and sons lie in the 
graves to which they were sent by 
their dear brothers of the North, 
and the broken-hearted widows 
and orphaned children must 
struggle for existence. We can 
only endeavor to assist them in 
the struggle, and comfort them 
with the thought that it is better 
to be Abel than Cain. At the 
South, agricultural pursuits en- 
grossed the greater portion of the 
population, and now, in the 
present condition of things, there 
is neither agriculture nor manu- 
factures suitable for the feeble 
strength of women and children. 
Still, there are some articles 
which can be manufactured at 
home, with a little instruction, 
and which, although the profits 
be small, will keep the wolf from 
the door. Straw plaiting, for in- 
stance, is light and easy work, 
and Virginia Penny tells us that 
"in 1855, 6,000,000 straw hats 
were made in Massachusetts, giv- 
ing employment to ten thousand of 
her people.'''' Eye straw is the 
kind generally used. It is cut, 
soaked in water and dried. The 
plaiting is mostly done in farm- 
ers' families. Philadelphia is 
said to spend S6, 000 ,000 annually 
in the manufacture of straw goods. 
Some of the straw plaiters earn 
from $4 to ^5 a week. They 
work at home. 

The manufacture of willow 
ware, — baskets, &c., is another 
occupation suitable for women 

and children. For the finer 
kinds of basket work, some prac- 
tice, and a set of tools will be 
necessary. The tools cost $5, 
and will last a life-time. 

Willow grows abundantly in 
many portions of the South, and 
baskets, &c., of all kinds com- 
mand a much higher price than 
at the North. "A German 
woman asked $1.50 for a basket 
she had paid fifty cents for mak- 
ing — at that rate her profits were 
considerable. I met a German 
boy, with baskets, who said he 
could make from 75 cents to $1 a 
day by his work." 

Virginia Penny calls attention 
to another branch of industry 
which might suit Southern wo- 
men — bee culture. She says 
" most of the honey used in the 
United States, is collected in the 
South. In keeping bees, there is 
no expense. The hives can easily 
be made at home, or purchased at 
a comparative trifle. Their food 
they seek themselves. In many 
of the rural districts of England, 
the bee mistresses earn a living 
by selling honey. A new species 
of bee that build in trees instead 
of hives is about to be introduced 
by Government from Paraguay." 

Canning fruit, and making pre- 
serves and pickles, for sale, is 
another profitable branch of fe- 
male industry. An extensive 
public manufacturer writes to our 
authoress, "I employ women in 
packing pickles and all goods of 
this kind into glass — making jel- 
lies, jams, &c., bottling syrups, 
&c. The employment is healthy — 
so much so, that I have known 
invalids to regain their health." 
This may be accounted for in the 
same manner that the well known 
sugar house cure is— the fumes of 
the boiling jellies, syrups, &c., 
resembling those of the sugar 

Virginia Penny deserves the 
gratitude of the public for this 
suggestive book. 

i^iST OP' .A.iD^v'Ei^TiSEiivnEisrars. 

Charlotte Female Institute, 

Korth State Washing Machine, 

Bock Island Manufacturing Company, 

Armstrong, Cator & Co., 

Baltimore Weekly Gazette, 

Bevan & Sons, 

Bickford & Huffman, 

Burrough Bros., 

Butler Bros., 

Brown, Lancaster & Co., 

CanQeld, Bro. & Co., 

Samuel Child & Co., 

Cortlan & Co., 

W. Devries & Co., 

Dufur & Co., 

Gaddess Bros., 

Thos. Godey, 

Grover & Baker Sewing Machine. 

Jno. D. Hammond & Co., 

Howard House, 

Wm. Ivnabe, 

Lord & Eobinson, 

W. G. Maxwell, 

Alexander McComas, 

Patapsco Guano Company, 

E. Renwick & Son, 

Bhodes & Co., 


H. Sanders & Co., 

Shipley, Roane & Co., 

Charlotte, K. C. 

a (( 

Baltimore, Md. 

Chas. M. Stieff, 
K. Q. Taylor, 
Noah Walker & Co., 
Washington University, 
Wilson, Colston & Co., 
Tiffany & Co., 
Traphagen, Hunter & Co., 
Claxton, Kemsen & Haffelfinger, 
Collins & McLeester, 
M. Walker & Sons, 
Dunbar Female Seminary, 
Greenbrier White Sulphur Springs, 
Piedmont Insurance Company, 
Rockbridge Alum Springs, 
Southern University Series 
Valley Female Seminary, 
Owen House, 
S. W. Owen, 

Holt, Murray & Tarleton, 
Mobile Sunday Times, 

Baltimore, Md. 

a u 

(4 a 

a a 

New York City. 

u u 

Phila., Pa. 

u a 

Winchester, Va. 

Winchester, " 
Washington, D. C. 

Mobile, Ala. 

/^J^-^.^^ .==''^^>-^-A_^ 



Ko. ly. 

AUGUST, 1868. 

Vol. V. 


We learn from Mr. Avirett's 
charming book that Gen. Ashby 
was born at Eose Bank, Fauquier 
county, Virginia, on the 23rd 
October, 1828, being the third of 
six children. Mr. Avirett thus 
speaks of the home of the General, 
and his characteristics in youth 
and early manhood : 

"'Rose Bank,' the homestead 
of the Ashbys, (now a heap of 
blackened ruins,) was situated on 
a beautiful eminence, near the 
eastern base of the Blue Eidge, 
in what is most appropriately 
called the Piedmont country, and 
was surrounded by wild and 
picturesque scenery. At the foot 
of the eminence on which it stood, 
and in full view, ran Goose Creek, 
a dashing, sparkling mountain 
stream, just breakiag away from 
the mountains above, among which 
it rises. These mountains were 
filled with deer and wild turkeys, 
ever tempting the boys to indulge 

* The Memoirs of General Tiirner 
Asliby, By Rev. James B. Avirett. 
Baltimore : Selljy & Dulany : 

VOL. V. NO. IV. 

in the invigorating sports of the 

' ' The father of General Ashby 
was the man of all others who 
would exercise a powerful influ- 
ence over his children; but when 
Turner was just beginning to take 
on character, in his sixth year, 
the father was called upon to pay 
Nature's greatest and last debt, 
and his remains were followed to 
the grave by his sorrowing house- 
hold. Colonel Ashby had been 
an officer in the war of 1812, and 
during his military life had kept a 
diary, which was the constant 
companion of his son Turner, as 
soon as he was able to read. 
From it, more than from any 
other source, save his mother, he 
learned his father's character, and 
many of the parental views and 
traits were reflected in his subse- 
quent life. The study of this 
diary taught him, when he be- 
came an officer, to regard and 
treat his privates as fellow-beings 
entitled to love, respect, and 


288 Sketch of General Asliby. [August, 

" Upon the Coloners death, the evening in reading some well se- 
whole charge of the household lected volume, the group passing 
devolved upon the mother, who, the book from one to the other, 
by nature and education, was thus heightening the interest and 
fully equal to this responsible increasing the general benefit. — 
trust. Mrs. Ashby, in whom a It has been mentioned that Mrs. 
taste for literature and flowers Ashby afforded her children every 
predominated, soon collected a advantage of education within 
fine library, and by persevering her power. It has been a cus- 
industry and care covered ' Eose tom in many families in the South 
Bank ' with a profusion of flow- to employ teachers from the 
ers and rare shrubbery. But North, and among those thus em- 
whilst she was careful to make ployed at 'Rose Bank,' was a 
their home as beautiful and at- brother of Judge John C. Under- 
tractive as possible, she by no wood, of evil fame and name, 
means neglected the cultivation As the children grew older, they 
of the minds and hearts of her were sent away to school, but so 
children. She took care to em- admirably had the mother suc- 
ploy good teachers in her family, ceeded in making home and its 
and whilst their minds were cul- pleasures attractive, especially to 
tivated under all the happy safe- Turner, that she found great 
guards of home, was not less difiiculty in inducing him to re- 
careful of their physical educa- main abroad. His local attach- 
tion; her boys were taught, like ments were very strong, and no 
the young Medes in the days of Swiss peasant ever loved his 
Cyrus, to ride, to shoot, and to mountain cot more ardently than 
speak the truth. As a child. Gen. did this young Virginian his own 
Ashby was not promising in ap- ' Eose Bank.' At length, Mrs. 
pearance, being small of stature, Ashby placed him at school at 
and inheriting the dark com- Major Ambler's, in the neighbor- 
plexion of the Greens, through his hood, where he became very fond 
mother. In his habits, he was of his teacher and schoolmates, 
retiring and reserved, grave and His generous, unselfish disposi- 
thoughtful, but with a manly and tion soon won him the r dmira- 
unselfish spirit, ever ready to tion and affection of the band of 
stand up in defence of the weak, noble youths here at school, 
or to resent an injustice done among whom may be mentioned 
either to himself or to his sisters the Amblers, Striblinps, and 
or brothers ; his devotion to his Marshalls, and there grew up a 
mother was unbounded, and he friendship which was as unfading 
always considered the honor and as the laurel on the neighboring 
interests of each member of his mountains. One of these very 
family as his own. He was fond schoolmates, in a letter to the 
of books, and generally preferred writer, says: ' General Ashbv, as 
history. It was the custom of a boy, was remarkable for his 
. Mrs. Ashby to gather her house- contempt of danger, and his 
hold around her, and pass the freedom from the vices common 


Sketch of General Ashby. 


among boys ; he was never known 
to swear, or to use profane lan- 
guage. His contempt of danger 
was exhibited nearly every day; 
whenever the creek was swollen 
by heavy rains, he might be seen 
in it, breasting the torrent above 
the waterfalls, where a failure 
would dash him to pieces on the 
rocks below ; whenever a colt was 
found too wild and vicious to be 
ridden by any one else in the 
neighborhood , it was his pleasure 
to mount and tame him. In com- 
bats with his schoolfellows, whilst 
he was always brave and stubborn 
in the fight , after it was over he 
was always ready to forgive and 
forget. ' 

"Richard, his younger brother, 
was his constant companion , and 
the boys were taught at home to 
love each other very tenderly. 
Turner, as the elder, would watch 
over his brother with almost ma- 
ternal care, would side with him 
in all his difficulties, and, if it 
came to blows, would insist upon 
fighting for him, though Eichard 
would object to this, as he thought 
himself fully able to fight his own 
battles. In the formation of his 
character, happily blending gen- 
tleness with manliness, (but 
another name for chivalry,) his 
sister informs the writer that 
when he would return from school, 
he would take great pleasure in 
joining the girls in their in-door 
sports, kindly arranging their 
playthings and doll-houses with 
his own hands, and ' was always 
doing some kind act to make us 
love him.' At an early age, a 
singularly pleasing trait of char- 
acter was developed— perfect un- 
selfishness. A little incident in 

the life at ' Eose Bank' will illus- 
trate this. Turner, indulging his 
boyish taste for pets, had manag- 
ed to secure a wolf, which soon 
became very fond of him. Soon, 
perceiving that 'Lupus ' was the 
terror of the children in the 
neighborhood, he gave up his 
pet, determining that his little 
friends should not be alienated 
from him by any selfish indul- 

"Among the earliest tastes 
which he developed , was that of 
a passionate fondness for horses, 
and he liked to have the entire 
control of his own. As he scarce- 
ly remembered the time when he 
could not ride, so upon growing 
older he became marked as the best 
and boldest rider among a circle of 
youths all of whom were good 
horsemen , whether trial of horse- 
manship were made at the tour- 
nament, hurdle-race, or fox-chase. 

" It will be borne in mind that 
the Cavaliers, who settled Vir- 
ginia, faithfully transmitted to 
their posterity, among much that 
was noble, some objectionable 
tastes and customs. Among 
them, few were more unobjection- 
able than fox-hunting; aside from 
the waste of time and neglect of 
business consequent upon its in- 
dulgence, it was healthful, in- 
vigorating, and free from many 
of the worst features of other 
kinds of sport common in the 
South twenty- five or thirty years 
ago. Young Ashby was very 
fond of the chase, which frequent- 
ly led him many miles from home. 
Asa gentle, unobtrusive lad, he 
is still remembered by the older 
persons residing in Pauquier,but 
better by the younger as the sin- 


Sketch of General Ashhy. 


gularly daring and fearless rider 
who led the hunt, ever as glad to 
welcome the ringing notus of the 
hunting -hern, awakening the 
echoes of the hills at early daw'n, 
and summoning its lovers to a 
day of sport, as he was to catch 
the first notes of the reveille, in 
later days, summoning him to 
combat and to glory." 

"We refer the reader to the deep- 
ly interesting book itself, and will 
give only one more extract, that 
which describes the death of the 
illustrious soldier: 

' ' We fell back slowly before the 
advance of the enemy, and halted 
some three or four miles from 
Harrisonburg for the purpose of 
resting the tired infantry. The 
command 'llest!' had scarcely 
been obeyed, when we were 
startled by the rattle of small 
arms and the yell we knew so 
Avell came from Ashby's boys in 
the headlong charge. A few 
minutes sufficed to tell the tale. 
The first prisoner brought to the 
rear, a private soldier, in reply to 
our interrogations, said, Percy 
Wyndham had met the man he 
had so long sought, and he didn't 
think he'd care about seeing him 
soon again, 'for,' to use his own 
language, 'we've been smashed 
all to fiinders.' Prisoners wer •, 
now brought in in numbers, and 
among them the redoubtable 
"Wyndham himself, whose chagrin 
at his mishap, I shall long re- 
member. Ashby had been en- 
tirely successful in his repulse of 
"Wyndham's attack. It was, per- 

haps, two hours after, that orders 
came for three regiments of in- 
fantry to retrace the steps they 
had taken in the morning, and 
we fell sure from the command 
being accompanied by General 
E well in person, that some seri- 
ous work was on hand. The 
regiments selected were the Pifty- 
eighth and Forty-fourth Virginia, 
and the First Maryland. 

" After moving through the 
woods for some distance, we were 
met by General Ashby, when the 
command was halted, and two 
companies of the 1st Maryland 
thrown forward as skirmishers 
under the immediate eye, or, I 
may say, command of Ashby. 
The reserves followed closely, and, 
in half an hour, three or four 
shots announced that the enemy 
was near. The 58th was ordered 
up and soon became hotly en- 
gaged. The fire of the enemy 
was very deadly, and the 58th re- 
coiled before it. Ashby was 
everywhere, encouraging and ani- 
mating his men, until at last his 
horse was struck by a bullet and 
went down. Springing to his 
feet, and waving his sword over 
his head, he rushed forward, call- 
ing to his men to follow. He had 
not taken half a dozen steps, 
when he fell, pierced through the 
body by a musket-ball, and died 
almost instantly. No dying 
words issued from his lips, and 
the last command he was heard 
to give was, ' Forward, my 
brave men!' " 

1868.] Stonewall Jackson. 291 


When the rage of the North sent her myrmidons forth, 

And Yirginia — i^roud mother of States! — 
Pirst chosen for pillage, saw homestead and village 

Succumb to the pitiless fates, 
With a comet-like dash, with a lightning-like flash, 

Eclipsing her own radiant story. 
In Jehovah's dread name, wreaking vengeance he came — 

Her youngest-born scion of glory. 

'The foe-men! where are they?' This alone was Ms parley, 

As o'er mountain and torrent he flew; 
Ko ice could delay him, no darkness dismay him; 

Starved, thirsting, yet sterner he grew; 
He paused not to slumber, he recked not of number; 

But, a cloud on the hurricane's breath, 
He flashed out the fire of God's scathing ire, 

And gave thee rich banquets, oh! Death! 

What deed that he dared not? what peril he shared not? 

Intuition her torch held to light him. 
Eelentless chastiser, sententious adviser, 

To discover the foe was to fight him. 
Of the wisdom that lies in the night and the skies 

He took counsel, with knee to the sod. 
His devices he bared not, for favor he cared not , 

Since he held his commission from God. 

Manassas! yet white to the awe-stricken sight, 

With thy bones like a glimmering pall! 
Kappahannoc! still lost to the blustering host — 

Ye blood-deluged battle-fields all! 
Bear, bear into story with your own crimson glory, 

So long as the ages revolve, 
The name and the fame of that spirit of flame — 

The man of undaunted resolve! 

Still northward we'll bear him, and a grave we'll prepare him. 

In the face of the foe he ne'er fled. 
With the calm of the blest he'll take his deep rest, 

Though invasion should sweep o'er his head. 


Comparative Generalshijp. 


But if the blue heaven be suddenly riven, 

And thunder, announced by no gleam, 
Should his cannon resemble, and the pillagers tremble. 

The grim sleeper may smile in his dream! 
Savannah, Ga. H. r. jackson. 


But let us come to the prom- 
ised sketch of Grant's campaign. 
He himself is reported to have 
said to an English gentleman, 
since the war, that though he had 
often been said to have been beat- 
en , he had to be beaten for the 
first time yet. So it was stated 
by a correspondent in an English 
newspaper. We think he is mis- 
taken. "We think it can be shown 
that he was not only beaten on 
more than one occasion, but that 
he was very well aware of the 

At Belmont, for instance, when 
his forces were three to one, he 
was routed, pursued several miles 
by our troops, who tracked his 
men the whole way by the arms 
and knapsacks they had thrown 
away, by the dead and dying 
strewn along the line of flight and 
by the capture of his surgical 
head quarters, whei'e they found 
a yard full of blankets, coats, knap- 
sacks, and wounded men, with the 
surgeons attending them, and he 
was followed to his yery boats, on 
which his men tumbled heels over 
head, and rushed to the opposite 
side to get out of fire, with so 
much tumult that guards with 
bayonets were placed to keep 

them off lest they should sink the 
boats. Even in their boats they 
had to run the gauntlet of a heavy 
fire from our sharp-shooters on 
the bank for more than a mile. — 
If that was not a defeat. Bull 
Eun or Waterloo was not. 

His next appearance was at 
Fort Donelson, in February 
1862. Sidney Johnston, lying at 
the Bowling Green with 23,000 
men, detached 11,000 of them to 
Fort Donelson, on the Cumberland 
river, built there to guard the 
approach to ISTashville. The 
whole garrison, after reinforce- 
ment, was about 12,500 strong. 
Grant appeared before it with 
30,000 men, and attempted, in 
vain, for several days, to carry it 
by storm. Our forces were suc- 
cessful in repelling every attack 
made by the enemy, who were 
reinforced every movement. Be- 
fore the affair was over. Grant 
had before the place, eighty- two 
regiments, which must have con- 
tained, in the aggregate, 60,000 
men, at a moderate calculation, 
and a naval force stronger by 
many degrees, than the whole 
combined fleet of the Confederate 
States. The place at last sur- 
rendered, our total loss, in men,. 


Comparative Generalship. 


was about 5,500, more than half 
had escaped, and we killed and 
wounded double that number. 
The Korthern prints, with a 
characteristic regard for truth, 
stated our loss at 15,000, two 
thousand more than we had in 
the fort, and headed their columns 
with these figures, in type an 
inch long. 

General Sidney Johnston re- 
treated to Murfreesborough, and 
from there marched to Corinth, 
to unite his forces with those of 
General Beauregard, at Corinth. 
To these were added two divisions 
of General Polk's command. — 
Several regiments from Louisiana, 
and some troops from Mobile, 
which increased Gen. Johnston's 
command to about 35,000, were all 
admirable troops. About the first 
of April, Grant crossed the Ten- 
nessee, and took post near Pitts- 
burg landing. He had given his 
enemy five weeks to rally, and he 
had, as we have seen, taken ad- 
vantage of it. Why he did this, 
we do not know. It may have 
been military, it certainly was 
not Napoleonic, nor was it after 
the Stonewall Jackson fashion. 
Keither of these officers would 
have given Johnston a moment 
to rest, far less five weeks. If 
Jackson had been a Federal offi- 
cer, and had had in his hands an 
army of 50,000 men, on the day 
of the surrender of Port Donel- 
son, Johnston and Beauregard 
never would have gotten together. 
But so it was, about the first of 
April, Grant lay at Pittsburg 
landing with 50,000 men, and was 
writing letters every day to Buell 
to hurry up, from Columbus, with 
the 35,000 or 40,000 under his 

command. Johnston resolved to 
attack him in that position, be- 
fore Buell could come up. He 
was, unfortunately, one day later 
than he expected to be, having 
been unavoidably detained by 
horrible roads, horrible weather, 
and the tangled forest country he 
was obliged to pass through. — 
However, he attacked him on the 
6th of April, a little before sun- 
rise, carried one position, made 
him retreat to another, carried 
that and made him retreat to a 
third, carried that, and swept 
everything before him, taking 
nearly all his guns, of which he 
had 108, when he, himself, was 
killed. General Beauregard as- 
sumed the command, and con- 
tinued the battle until the enemy 
was driven, on the run, to the 
very brink of the river, thousands 
of men sheltering themselves un- 
der the banks. A single push, and 
the whole mass would have been 
precipitated into the river, when 
the troops halted. The river, which 
would have been greater destruc- 
tion had he been vigorously attack- 
ed, proved his salvation as it was. 
His whole army would have 
broken into an irretrievable rout, 
had they been able to fly, but the 
river prevented them. Towards 
the end of the action, Buell's 
army began to arrive. During 
the night, it all came up. Beau- 
regard had complete possession of 
Grant's camp, retained it all 
night, and had the mortification 
of seeing his troops dispersed all 
over it, in search of the enormous 
wealth with which it was loaded. 
In vain did he attempt to rally 
them as the morning approached, 
to resist the attack which he 


Comparative Generalship. 


knew that the enemy, reinforced 
by 35,000 men, would be sure to 
make. As morning approached, 
he got all he could into line, which, 
after his losses of the day before, 
were not 20,000 men. The enemy 
were now upwards of 60,000; 
more than three to one. Yet, he 
fought this mighty force for six 
hours, and retreated in safety to 
Corinth, carrying off his wounded, 
his prisoners, a large part of the 
cannon he had captured, and a 
considerable portion of the spoils. 
This shameful defeat, the Yankee 
Press, and the Cabinet at Wash- 
ington chose to call a great vic- 
tory, and, by way of keeping up 
the spirits of their party, the 
President proclaimed a general 
Thanksgiving day. No occur- 
rence of the war demonstrated 
more palpably than this battle, 
the great superiority of the Con- 
federate troops ; for the Federal 
troops were all western men, not 
Yankees, and the western soldier 
is a very different man from the 
Yankee soldier. 

General Grant's next exploit 
was the capture of Vicksburg. 
In that city there were 27,000 
troops in all, from the beginning 
of Grant's operations away up 
the river, to its surrender, a 
period of eight or nine months, 
and he had, himself, at the time 
of that surrender, 120,000 men 
before it! So, at least, said 
Minister Adams, in an official 
speech which he made to the 
English Secretary of State for 
Poreign Affairs (Lord Ptussell) 
by direction of Secretary Seward. 
We are confident, that either of 
the great Captains to whom he is 
advantageously contrasted in the 

article, which has drawn forth 
this comment, would, with such 
an army, have taken Vicksburg 
in at least six months before it 
fell, and so would Stonewall Jack- 

In the fall of the same year, 
1863, Grant defeated Bragg near 
Chickamauga. The soldiers of 
Bragg were between 40,000 and 
50,000, those of Grant about 120,- 
000. Bragg's army was thorough- 
ly demoralized, and almost in a 
state of disorganization. They 
were, of course, easily defeated. 
But Grant, with characteristic 
slowness, seems to have made no 
use of his victory. His enemy 
was allowed a whole winter to 
reorganize and recover. Had 
Stonewall Jackson been in his 
place, that army would have been 
captured or destroyed, in one 
week after its defeat. 

We now come to the campaign 
of 1804, against Lee, in Virginia. 
At the commencement of this 
campaign. Grant had with him 
on the Kapidan, 160,000 men. — 
Stanton telegraphed that he re- 
inforced him twice between the 
Wilderness and James river; once 
with 45,000 men and again with 
40,000; that is with 85,000 in all. 
Lee's whole force was 47,000 
men, not one-third the number 
Grant had with him at the Wil- 
derness. This enormous disparity 
of force induced Grant to believe 
that he could sweep his adversary 
out of his path as the whirlwind 
scatters the leaves of the forest. 
In the assurance of an easy and 
early triumph, he wrote to one of 
his correspondents, " I shall fight 
it out on this line if it takes me 
all summer." That is, I will 


Comparative Generalship. 


sweep Lee out of my path, and 
march straight to Kichmond. — 
His object, no doubt, was, to 
break through his line, turn him 
off towards the mountains, and 
having thus cut him off from his 
resources, pursue him and destroy 
his army at leisure, while Butler 
or a detachment sent from Wash- 
ington took possession of Kich- 
mond. While he was thus calcu- 
lating, and preparing to crush 
Lee, that officer anticipated him, 
and attacked his centre at the 
Wilderness with inexpressible fu- 
ry. The battle raged for several 
days, during which he was un- 
able to move Lee one inch from 
his position. Finding all his ef- 
forts vain, he withdrew his army 
by a flank movement, which 
would have been fatal to it but 
for its vast superiority of num- 
bers, enabling him to keep in po- 
sition a line quite equal to Lee's 
in number, and thus to mask the 
movement taking place behind it. 
It was the very movement which 
the Kussians attempted at Aus- 
terlitz, and which caused the de- 
struction of their army, and the 
loss of the campaign. But the 
Russians were only superior to 
the French by one- fifth. They 
could not, therefore, interpose an 
army equal to Kapoleon's, while 
they were . manoeuvring in the 
rear with another of double the 
size. !N"apoleon could see what 
they were at, and attacked them 
while they were executing the 
manoeuvre. Frederick attempted 
the same thing at Hochkirchen, 
and got his army destroyed by it. 
Marmont tried the same manoeu- 
vre at Salamanca, and was badly 
beaten in consequence. But Grant 

could do it with safety, because 
he could make a curtain of a force 
equal to Lee's while he manoeu- 
vred behind it. His loss was 
enormous. It was said, at the 
time, that it reached 50,000 men, 
and we have no doubt it did. — 
He left Lee standing where he 
stood at the beginning of the bat- 
tle. He left an enormous number 
of dead on the field of battle lying 
unburied. And yet he claimed a 
victory, being the first victorious 
general that, so far as we know, 
ever marched off leaving his un- 
buried dead strewn all over the 
field as thick "as leaves in Yallam- 

Grant filed off towards Fred- 
ericksburg, in hopes to get be- 
tween Lee and Richmond. But 
his route was circuitous, and Lee 
had the interior line. He was, 
throughout the campaign, opera- 
ting on the chord of an arc. He 
anticipated Grant, and got be- 
fore him by a shorter route at 
Spotsylvania Court House. Here 
the whole thing was to be tried 
over again. Grant had probably 
received the first installment of 
his reinforcements, 45,000 men. 
His line, therefore, was still 150,- 
000 strong, while Lee had lost 
heavily at the Wilderness, and 
could not have had more than 
40,000 men. Three days' fight- 
ing preceded the tremendous bat- 
tle of the 12th in which Grant 
was repulsed in all his attempts, 
and lost upon a moderate calcu- 
lation, 40,000 men. Lee's loss 
was also heavy. The division of 
General Edward Johnson, occu- 
pying an advanced position, was 
deprived of its artillery on the 
nisht of the 11th. The General 


Comparative Generalship. 


ascertaining that he was to be at- 
tacked by an overwhelming force, 
about two o'clock, sent a first 
messenger to reclaim it, and from 
that time, messenger after mes- 
senger. It came back after the 
fight was over, just in time to fall 
into the enemy's hands. In the 
meantime, Johnson's division, 
7,000 strong, was attacked by 
Hancock's corps, of 30,000 men. 
They made a desperate resistance, 
but were overpowered, and the 
greater part taken or dispersed; 
the General, himself, being among 
the captured. Sure now of vic- 
tory, the enemy pushed on only 
to be repeatedly repulsed, with a 
slaughter never equalled in any 
engagement fought in this coun- 
try. It was stated that Grant 
lost 40,000 men on that terrible 
day, and he made no impression 
whatever on Lee. Lee's loss also 
was considerable. In all, he had 
lost during the campaign, at least 
12,000 men, which reduced his 
force to 35,000. Before they 
came again in contact, at Cold 
Harbor, Grant had received a 
fresh reinforcement of 40,000 men, 
raising his numbers again to 
more than 150,000. 

Grant finding he could not 
move Lee out of his tracks, again 
moved off by his left. Lee again 
faced him on the Pamunkey, but 
he did not evince the same ardor 
there, and after a not very hot 
engagement he again moved off 
by his left. Lee was ready for 
him at Cold Harbor, and there 
repulsed him with prodigious 
slaughter. It was said he lost on 
this occasion 30,000 men. But he 
still had 120,000, while Lee had 
but 35,000, and was too weak to 

follow him, when filing off again 
to his left he crossed the Chicka- 
hominy at Long Bridge, and 
passed over the James with the 
hope of surprising Petersburg. — 
Lee again anticipated him and 
joining Beauregard, who held 
Butler "bottled up" at Bermuda 
Hundred, his whole force, after 
receiving a reinforcement of two 
or three thousand from Brecken- 
ridge, was now 50,000 men. 

This campaign, on the part of 
Gen. Lee, is one of the most bril- 
liant recorded in history. It re- 
sembles, more than any other, 
that of Kapoleon in 1814. The 
same use of the interior line was 
made by both, both moving upon 
the chord of an arc, and each 
compelling his adversary to move 
upon the circumference. The ob- 
ject of Kapoleon was to prevent 
the several armies of his enemies 
from uniting, which he was en- 
abled to do by moving on a short 
line, while they moved on a long- 
er, so that he could attack the 
first of them which came to the 
place of union before the others 
could get up. The object of Lee 
was to keep between his enemy 
and Richmond, which he always 
did by moving on the short line. 
Actually before him — confronting 
him on the several fields of battle 
— were, from first to last, 245,000 
men, while 47,000 were all that 
he had from first to last. We 
have here stated the losses of the 
the enemy, as they were reported 
at the time, and as we believe 
them to have actually been. Of 
course, the enemy make a very 
different statement. Gen. Hal- 
leck advised that their generals 
should be instructed to claim a 


Comparative Generalship. 


victory on all occasions, and none 
of them ever neglected that duty. 
Their official reports are quite as 
trustworthy as the stories of the 
Baron Munchausen, but not more 
so. Suppose Lee to have had 
160,000 men at the Wilderness, 
and Grant 47,000. How long 
would the latter have stood be- 
fore him? Kot one hour. Be- 
sides these. Hunter was operating 
on one flank with 30,000 men, and 
Butler, with 30,000, on the other. 
In all he had 305,000 men to con- 
tend with, at a time when, even 
after Breckenridge and Beaure- 
gard had joined, he could not 
muster more than 50,0C0. Sup- 
pose he had been at the head of 
300,000 men. He would have 
planted the Confederate flag upon 
the roof or steeple (if it have any 
steeple) of Faneuil Hall, in less 
than a month. The detachment 
of 14, 000 men, under Early, soon 
reduced his force to 36,000 men, 
and with this little force he con- 
fronted Grant, with an army 
150,000 strong (including Butler's) 
backed by a naval force that was 
strong enough to have sunk both 
the fleets that fought at Trafal- 

* This article was written in January- 
last, Tlie accuracy of its statements 
has been wonderfully confirmed since 
that time by the JSfew York Wo)'ld. — 
That Journal has been publishing a 
severe scrutiny into the military pre- 
tensions of Gen. Grant. In its issue of 
June 9th it says : 

"We have already shown the re- 
spective forces and losses of Generals 
Grant and Lee between the Kapidan 
and James, and, as prefatory to some 
further historical light on General 
Grant's soldiership, reproduce them. 

" Grant, on assuming command May 
4, 1864, had of effective men besides the 
reserve, when he crossed the Rapidan, 

It is very rarely that statements 
upon military questions, coming 
from opposite sides, differ so little. 
"We are convinced, however, that 
we are nearer right than the 
World. That Grant had at least 
143,000 men with him, at the 
opening of the campaign, that is, 
at the battle of the Wilderness, 
is, we think, certain. That Lee 
had but 47,000 men there, is also 
certain. That Grant had, in 
point of fact, 160,000 men, was 
stated at the time, upon evidence 
which we believed to be incontest- 
able. But let it stand as it is sta- 
ted by the World, and what im- 
mense glory does it not reflect on 
Lee and his men. Lee was rein- 
forced by Breckenridge, Pinne- 

" Lee at the same date had an effect- 
ive force of 52,000. 

" Grant's reinforcements up to the 
battle of Cold Harbor, June 3, were 

" Lee's reinforcements up to the sam.e 
date were 18,000. 

" Grant's total force, including rein- 
forcements, was 222,000. 

"Lee's total force, including rein- 
forcements, was 70,000. 

"Eeturns to their respective Gov- 
ernments showed that when both ar- 
mies had reached the James, June 10, 
the number of Grant's army that had 
been put hors du combat was 117,000. 

" Up to the same date, the number of 
Lee's men who had been put hors du 
combat was 19,000. 

" The two armies in front of 

"It will be seen that Grant's total 
force, including reinforcements, was 
152,000, and his loss 98,000 in excess of 
Lee's, or that, with a force outnumber- 
ing his opponent's three to one, this 
bungler lost every other man in his 
army, while Lee lost but two out of 
every nine, or, to put it still different- 
ly, that Grant lost just six thousand 
men more than one and a half times 
Lee's entire army. That Grant suc- 
ceeded is true, but a general would 
have accomplished the same result 
with less means and less loss." 


Comparatim Generalship. 


gan, and a division of Longstreet's 
corps, which had been operating 
in North Carolina. So far from 
reaching 19,000 we are confident 
that they did not exceed the half 
of that figure, all told. It will be 
seen that we understated Grant's 
reinforcements. Instead of 85,- 
000, they Vere 97,000, 

After all, Grant would never 
have succeeded but for the oper- 
ations of Sherman in Georgia and 
South Carolina, which destroyed 
the last remaining resources of 
the Confederate army, and ren- 
dered desertion the only alterna- 
tive for starvation. To that offi- 
cer far more than to Grant is due 
the reduction of Kichmond and 
the consequent subversion of the 
Confederacy. How the North 
can exult in such a triumph is 
■difficult to conceive. 

It has been pretended that 
■Grant always intended to occupy 
the position around Petersburg. 
His own words prove the reverse. 
"I will fight it out on this line, 
&c." "This line" was not the 
way to Petersburg, and that was 
not his object. .. Richmond was 
his aim — Richmond "by this 
line " not by way of Petersburg. 
The road to Petersburg was by 
Old Point Comfort and Norfolk. 
He could have taken it, and ar- 
rived at the position he after- 
wards occupied, without fighting 
a battle. He took it finally, after 
he had been beaten in every bat- 
tle, because he found it impossi- 
ble to take it in any other way. 
He was driven to it. Every 
thinking man in the State was on 
thorns, throughout the war, about 
Petersburg. They saw that it 
was the true strategic point. — 

That once in the possession of 
the enemy, Richmond must fall, 
because he would have possession 
of all the roads that communicate 
with the South. They marveled 
at the stupidity of the enemy, 
which forbade them to see so 
plain a fact. Was it great gene- 
ralship to lose upwards of 100,000 
men for a purpose which might 
have been obtained without loss? 
There has been no end to the 
eulogies bestowed upon the Rus- 
sians for their defence of Sebasto- 
pol. What was it compared to 
Lee's defence of Petersburg. — 
They were fully equal in number 
to their enemies; nay, it maybe 
well believed, greatly superior; 
for they relieved each other in 
the trenches , every twelve hours, 
as regularly as if on parade. 
Their camp was always plenti- 
fully supplied. They had a 
profusion of arms, ammuni- 
tion, military stores and hos- 
pital supplies of every de- 
scription. The marvel is, not that 
they held out so long, but that 
the place was ever taken at all. 
Lee , for many months, defended 
a line extending from the Chick- 
ahominy to Hatcher's run— fifty 
miles long, against an enemy 
whose force, and numerous re- 
inforcements had swelled to 180,- 
000 men, fought a number of suc- 
cessful combats, and was never 
beaten until a severe winter, com- 
bined with hunger and destitution 
had thinned his ranks, and de- 
moralized his troops, to such a 
degree , that though he had been 
reinforced, in the Autumn, by 
what was called " the new levy," 
(that is, by men who were none 
less than 45 years of age,) yet on 


The Decay of Beligion in the South. 


the day when Grant, at the head 
of 180,000 men made the final 
assault on his lines, he had but 
35,000 troops to defend them. 
Thirty-five thousand, from the 
Chickahominy to Hatcher's run. 

Such are the exploits, that in 
the opinion of this writer, place 
General Grant above Caesar and 
JSTapoleon! Posterity will think 
very differently. The truth can- 
not be hidden. When the world 

reads the story of Confederate 
superiority of numbers, and com- 
pares it with the number of souls 
ascertained by census to have ex- 
isted in the Confederacy, they 
will laugh the falsehood to scorn. 
It will see how all Grant's vic- 
tories were gained. It will place 
Lee, not Grant, on the immortal 
roll in company with Alexander, 
Hannibal, Caesar, Frederic, Na- 
poleon and Wellington. 


For generations the people of 
the Southern States had occasion 
to observe the nature of the ne- 
gro there; and none know the ne- 
groes but those who have lived 
among them. The study of their 
history in other lands and under 
various conditions only confirmed 
the conviction that since the ori- 
gin of the race there never existed 
any negro population enjoying a 
condition of equal physical and 
moral well being, or one so far 
advanced in civilization and re- 
ligious development, and the peo- 
ple of the Southern States chal- 
lenged their enemies to refute the 

Not that they imagined the ne- 
groes, as a body, to be either 
Christians or civilized. They 
knew that both Christianity and 
civilization make slow progress, 
especially among a rude people of 
a low order of intellect. A nation 
of Christians never yet was, nor 
will be, nor has true civilization 

ever penetrated through the whole 
mass of a nation. 

Are we guilty of an absurdity 
in speaking of the civilization and 
Christianity of slaves ; and of ex- 
pecting progress from those whom 
we keep in fetters? 

When God has not directly re- 
vealed his designs, we can only 
infer them from the observation 
of his works. From the charac- 
teristics of each part of his crea- 
tion we must infer its use, al- 
though we may not discover all 
the purposes of its Creator. Who 
doubts that the horse was made 
for draft and the saddle? or the 
sheep to furnish wool, or kine to 
furnish milk, butter and cheese, 
and both to furnish food for man? 
Who doubts that the dog, with 
his domestic habits, his strong af- 
fection, his incorruptible fidelity, 
his unceasing vigilance, was de- 
signed for the companion, the 
friend, the servant and sentinel of 
his master? See the common hen. 


The Decay of Beligion in the South. 


contrary to the wont of the feath- 
ered tribe, hanging around man's 
dwelling, and laying her eggs al- 
most daily for his use; her mate 
with his clarion-noted clock sound- 
ing the hours of the night for 
every homestead. Are not all 
these fulfilling their destined end? 
And do not these very character- 
istics lead to the multiplication 
and improvement of their race? 

May we not reason thus as to 
the higher order of beings? Can 
we avoid contrasting the negro 
with the white man, who, go 
where he will, becomes the ruler? 
or with the red man now dying 
out from this continent? or with 
the Malay race in New Zealand, 
Tahiti and elsewhere on the Pa- 
cific, fading away before the 
influx of European settlers? In 
these cases the mere contact of 
races seems fatal to one of them. 
The colonists in this country not 
only bought African slaves, but 
reduced many of the Indians to 
slavery. The negroes throve and 
multiplied, the Indians died out. 
"We can find only here and there a 
trace of them where they had 
mingled their blood with the 

"We know best the history of the 
negro in this country, but his his- 
tory elsewhere, as far as it is 
known to us, corresponds with it. 
From his history we infer that 
God has given him a tendency to 
thrive and multiply in a condition 
of servitude, under which other 
races die out, and has given him 
little propensity to shake ofi" that 
servitude. But in freedom he has 
shown a tendency to deteriorate 
and die out, in countries where 
other races were thriving and 

multiplying rapidly. May we not 
then infer that the servile condi- 
tion of the negroes in the South 
was not contrary to the will of 
God? Xor is this contradicted by 
God's revealed word, which, so 
far from prohibiting human slave- 
ry, strongly inculcates the rela- 
tive duties of the master and 

But where are the four millions 
of negroes which the sun shone up- 
on in the South in 1860? Until dis- 
turbed by the Northern invaders 
they continued to thrive and multi- 
ply in every part of the Confedera- 
cy. But the decree of freedom was 
to them ' the beginning of the end. ' 
We foresee that in taking the cen- 
sus of 1870, the United States 
government will order that no 
record be made of distinctions in 
color or race, under the plea that 
all are citizens, all free and equal, 
while the true object will be to 
hide from the world the fearful 
gap, freedom and Northern rule 
are making in their ranks. 

The people of the Southern 
States felt that they had a civili- 
zation, and a political and social 
organization, from which not on- 
ly they themselves, but their 
slaves drew countless blessings. 
They saw that these blessings 
could only be preserved by break- 
ing off all connection with their 
faithless and usurping confeder- 
ates. No class was more enthu- 
siastic in the cause of Secession 
than the clergy and the more de- 
vout portion of the community. 
We witnessed but a feeble indica- 
tion of this spirit, while listening 
to a devout minister of the Gos- 
pel teaching his lisping infant to 
pray for President Davis as the 


The Decay of Beligion in the South.' 


champion, not only of political, 
but religious rights. In what 
war have the clergy taken a simi- 
lar part? We see a Bishop, with- 
out one word of censure from his 
brethren, taking high command, 
leading armies into battle, and 
perishing at the 'cannon's mouth.' 
We see a clergyman of the same 
church, at the first outbreak of 
the war, drilling his raw artille- 
rists, himself point the field piece 
on the foe, while with the roar of 
the cannon he mingles pious ejac- 
ulations to his Grod. We see oth- 
ers leading their regiments of 
horse or foot into the fight — but 
examples multiplying around us 
soon become innumerable. Many 
crowd into the ranks of the vol- 
unteer army; many rise to com- 
mands and prove worthy of them. 
Others, withheld by their views 
of professional propriety from ac- 
tually bearing arms, eagerly seek 
the posts of regimental chaplains, 
and are seen in the field assisting 
the wounded, or kneeling by the 
dying, as devoutly calm under 
the enemy's fire,, as in their pul- 
pit or closet at home. Many who 
had lived a priest's life died a sol- 
dier's death. Nor did these cleri- 
cal warriors represent a party in 
the church. In the seven States 
which first formed the Confeder- 
acy, we know hardly a native 
clergyman who opposed Secession, 
few who did not approve of it. 

For to numbers in the South, 
the war of Secession was a holy 
war ; and General (Stonewall) 
Jackson was the worthy repre- 
sentative of this class. Few re- 
cluse devotees are more absorbed 
in a religious life, than he was 
even in the most active part of 

his military career. His was the 
spirit of Judas Maccabeus aroused 
in defence, not only of political 
right, but religious truth. 

Yet, patriotism did not, in the 
South, usurp the place and as- 
sume the garb of religion — po- 
litical sermons, so common at the 
North— discourses from the pul- 
pit designed to produce a political 
effect, were hardly known in the 
South. Few of the most punctual 
attendants at church ever heard 
one. No communion table was 
seen draped with Confederate 
banners , in rivalry with ' the 
stars and stripes ' as used at the 
North. No congregation chant- 
ed a national anthem, in place 
of a hymn to the Almighty, in 
answer to the ' star spangled ban- 
ner ' given out from the pulpit 
and shouted rather than sung by 
the choir and congregation of the 
Northern ' church militant.' The 
religious manifestations in the 
South contrasted strongly with the 
fanatic politics, which pervaded 
and over-rode the religion of the 

Let no one imagine that we 
hold up to admiration each regi- 
mental chaplain in the Confede- 
rate army. With some neither 
the service of God or their coun- 
try was the ruling motive. There 
were gross blunders in the ofiicial 
appointments made in this, as in 
every branch of the service. But 
the conduct of the clergy general- 
ly, and of the devout and zealous 
members, of both sexes, of all 
branches of the Church, proved 
that Secession did not find sup- 
port only in the ambition of poli- 
ticians, the worldly calculations 
of mercenary men , and the pas- 


The Decay of Religion in the South. 


sionate and thoughtless impulses 
of hot and heady youth. 

It is foreign to our purpose to 
trace the manifold blunders which, 
from the beginning of the war to 
the end, did more to ruin the 
cause of the Confederacy, than 
the arms or the policy of its 
enemies. We will consider Avhat 
effect the circumstances attending 
the ruin of his country may have 
on the minds of the Southern 

The effects of emancipation on 
the negroes first attract his at- 
tention. They have been pictur- 
ed as a people cruelly oppressed — 
conscious of their wrongs, and 
only kept down hitherto by the 
strong hand — as true prisoners, as 
galley slaves or the inmates of a 
penitentiary. The fetters are 
knocked off', the bolts withdrawn, 
and the prison doors thrown open. 
What now is their conduct? Does 
it indicate the feelings engender- 
ed by a long course of wrongs? 
When we remember that this 
people lately numbered more than 
four millions, that in some parts 
of the country the blacks were 
three, five, and even ten to the 
whites — that agents were busy 
among them filling their minds 
and turning their heads, with 
dangerous counsels and imprac- 
ticable hopes — how rare were the 
instances of violence, outrage, or 
even disrespect to the whites, es- 
pecially to their former masters. 
In what multitudes of cases did 
they seek employment as free- 
men, from him who so lately held 
them as slaves. The instinctive 
sense of their own inferiority told 
them that there was nothing un- 
natural in their former condition. 

It had been said that by a 
system of compulsory toil for 
another, they had been prevented 
from laboring for their own ad- 
vancement. What is the history, 
not of their industry, but of their 
indolence? The greater part of 
them have shown little more prov- 
idence than cattle turned out to 

Where among them do we see 
the effects of their, at least, par- 
tial training in Christianity and 
civilization^/,. With few excep- 
tions, the most devout negroes 
celebrated their freedom by at 
once abandoning the congrega- 
tions of whites, with which they 
had long connected themselves. 
They seek to escape from the re- 
straints imposed by the pro- 
prieties of Christain worship and 
the presence of others of superi- 
or education and race; and to 
find in assemblies of their own 
people, opportunities which they 
instinctively crave for a boisterous 
and sensuous exprespion of their 
devotional impulses. The indul- 
gence of this yearning after re- 
ligious excitement soon produces 
extravagances utterly incompat- 
ible with Christian humility/ / 

Its influence on the women not 
seldom led them to assume the 
prophetic character, and their 
inspired ravings, when they had 
any meaning, were utterly sub- 
versive of Christian truth. The 
suddenness and universality of 
this religious movement, in de- 
serting the churches they had 
joined, was well expressed, in few 
words, by a clergyman of the 
Episcopal Church, who, although 
a native of England, had, in the 
midst of a negro population, de- 


The Decay of Beligion in the South. 


voted almost a life time to their 
religious instruction. "On the 
"triumph of the Northern arms 
becoming known to the negroes, 
I saw the labors of thirty years 
perish in thirty minutes." 
//^Their civilization clave to 
-tliem no longer than their reli- 
gion. They put off both as easily 
as their clothes. The writer of 
this article, being absent from his 
plantation on service, when his 
■neighborhood was occupied by 
the enemy, requested a neighbor 
to ascertain what was the con- 
dition of his negroes. His friend 
soon gave him the required in- 
formation, laying particular stress 
on one feature. ' You would no 
longer recognize the family rela- 
tions among your negroes. There 
have been so many exchanges of 
husbands and wives that few 
households are in the state in 
which you lately left them. ' 

Yet for thirty or forty years , at 
least, especial pains had been 
taken to impress on these people 
the sanctity and permanence of 
the n;iarriage tie. This was one 
of the speediest results of free- 
dom even here, where the negroes 
remained on the plantation. In 
many cases, they deserted their 
old homes to seek their fortunes 
elsewhere, with a view, not of 
making, but finding a living. In 
so doing, they often disencumber- 
ed themselves of such impedi- 
ments as wives, husbands, and 
children, throwing off, with the 
obligation of personal service , all 
domestic ties. This improvidence, 
and their neglect of a parent's 
duties, have been followed by a 
fearful mortality among the 
•children, who, indeed, in the 
VOL. v.— NO. IV. 

days of slavery owed their pres- , 
ervation chiefly to the master's/ 
care. -<" 

The destiny of the negro in the 
Southern States is becoming daily 
more manifest. For the inert- 
ness and improvidence of his un- 
changeable nature , proved by his 
history in every age and every 
land, plainly point it out. The 
negroes emancipated in the West 
Indies, indeed, however low they 
may sink into barbarism, may 
not become extinct. They have 
found a new Guinea and Angola 
there. Protected by a climate as 
hostile to the white man as pro- 
pitious to the black, they gather 
rather than earn a subsistence 
from the almost spontaneous pro- 
duce of the soil; and a subsistence, 
that they may exist to enjoy the 
dolcefar niente, the luxury of in- 
dolence, is all they ask. But on 
the adjacent continent, life is not 
existence merely, but a struggle, 
under adverse conditions, re- 
quiring some thought, industry, 
self-denial, all so much wanting 
in the negro — an unceasing strug- 
gle which becomes hopeless, when 
it has to be maintained in contact, 
and often in conflict with a su- 
perior race. 

Many a Southern man , led by 
his knowledge of the negro to 
this conviction as to their destiny, 
is startled at the reflections which 
force themselves upon him. Has 
God permitted the exodus of 
hundreds of thousands of these 
people from a country , one of the 
most barbarous , perhaps the most 
unimprovable on earth, where 
they were the slaves of barbarians 
like themselves? Did he permit 
their transportation to another 



The Decay of Beligion in the South, 


land, where, although still in 
bondage, civilization and Christ- 
ianity were within their reach? 
Has he multiplied their num- 
bers fifteen fold in little more 
than a century, permitted their 
progress in civilization , and open- 
ed to many of them his revealed 
word? Has he made them the 
instruments for reclaiming from 
the wilderness vast territories, 
both continental and insular, of 
matchless fertility, and incalcula- 
ble utility to man, — regions on 
which he has stamped a climate 
rendering them irreclaimable by 
the labors of any other race? — 
Has God done all this only that 
these millions of negroes entering, 
or within the pale of civilization 
and Christianity, should, through 
the results of a political convul- 
sion, in which they took no part, 
suddenly relapse towards bar- 
barism, lose sight of the cross of 
Christ, and, throughout the great- 
er part of these wide territories, 
hasten to extinction? What bet- 
ter can now be hoped for in a 
large portion of these Southern 
States, than that, when, like the 
red man, the black shall have 
passed away, they may become 
pastoral and half-civilized regions 
occupied by the degraded remnant 
of what was once a free and high 
spirited people , cut short in their 
rapid progress towards an emi- 
nent position among the nations 
of the earth? 

But this is, or has been, the 
Southern man's country, his 
home , endeared by every tender 
tie, hallowed by many glorious 
memories , watered with the blood 
of his brothers, who gave their 
lives for its defence. He may be 

forgiven if he is staggered at the 
unveiling of its coming fate. 

He has seen the enemies of 
this, his country, the mass of 
them utterly regardless of God's 
law, and the political rights they 
had covenanted to respect, mak- 
ing war upon it in the name of 
religion and humanity. The 
smouldering ruins, the wasted 
fields, the herds slaughtered in 
wantonness, the plunder laden 
trains — all proved their object to 
be not mere conquest, but rob- 
bery and devastation. He has 
seen them triumphant, and push- 
ing their success to the very ends 
they began by disavowing. 

lie now sees the Northern 
champions of universal liberty and 
equality, while carefully exclud- 
ing the negroes among themselves 
from all political or social equali- 
ty wii/i f/iemseZres , yet striving to 
give them in the South dominion 
over their former masters, while 
these very negroes are perishing 
from off the face of the land. 

He finds himself in a country 
cursed of God and man; and, 
prompted by his convictions of 
retributive justice, he looks around 
him and into his own heart to 
find the cause of this condemna- 
tion of himself, his country, his 
people, and the lately subject 
race. Looking back with scru- 
tinizing eye on the great struggle 
through which he has lately past, 
he can repent of nothing but the 
blunders which led to the ruin of 
a righteous cause. He looks back 
upon sacrifice after sacrifice, great, 
numberless and heart-rending, 
made by millions of his people 
from the purest motives — and be- 
hold! each noble sacrifice draws 


The Decay of Beligion in the South. 


after it the penalty of crime. — 
"Whatever were their sins as a 
people, he can fiad, in the result 
of the late conflict, nothing but 
triumphant wrong in the oSTorth, 
and nothing but unmerited 
ruin and misery in the South. — 
Whatever their natural sin 
was, he sees them trampled 
upon, by God's permission, by a 
far more sinful people. The re- 
sult is good to none, evil to all. — 
To the North loss, to the ^South 
ruin, to the negro extermination. 

Bewildered in mind, he is yet 
more puzzled by the conduct of 
many of the clergy, whose patriot- 
ic zeal and sacrifices he can never 
forget. When, in the ruin and 
humiliation of their native State, 
he joins them in the public wor- 
ship of Grod, he now hears all of 
the ministers of one branch of the 
church, and many of the others 
praying for a government which 
their congregations know only 
through its tyrannies, and calling 
dowi; the blessings of God on 
magistrates whose whole author- 
ity is founded on usurpation. — 
Xot a word is breathed to indi- 
cate that those, whom they pray 
for, stand in especial need that 
God should touch their guilty 
hearts, and move them to repent 
and seek pardon for their sins 
against God in their crimes against 
men. How strange the effect 
produced by hearing the minister 
praying for the prosperity of a 
government on Sunday, when he 
and nine-tenths of his congrega- 
tion would think it a blessed day's 
work could they destroy it on 

The clergy urge the example of 
St. Paul praying for ISTero! — 

as doubtless he did — for his con- 
version and repentance as a sin- 
burdened man — not for his long 
life and prosperity as a blood- 
stained tyrant. Often as we are 
urged in Scripture to forgive our 
enemies, we are no where urged 
to forgive the enemies of our 
country, to the utter forgetful- 
ness of that country's wrongs. — 
Let not the professing Christian 
forget how strong is now the 
temptation to abandon honest 
convictions under the plea of re- 
ligious duty; how easily a base 
subserviency to his wrong doers 
can cloke itself under the garb of 
Christian forgiveness of injuries 
to the utter confounding of our 
sense of right and wrong. Ask 
yourself this question: After suf- 
fering the wrongs that we have 
experienced at the hands of our 
enemies, with the knowledge we < 
now have of their true character, 
had we succeeded in breaking the 
yoke, would the most Christian 
spirit among us have failed to 
look upon them as enemies, not to 
be injured, but to be ever suspect- 
ed, watched and shunned? Was 
there ever occasion calling more 
loudly for obedience to the in- 
junction ' Let him be unto thee as 
a heathen man and a publican.' 
The contagion of iniquity must 
be shunned. 

Such a construction as many of 
our clergy have practically put 
upon the text ' the powers that be 
are ordained of God' is a carica- 
ture of Erastianism worthy of 
the 'Yicar of Bray.' Those who 
thus teach need fear persecution 
from no tyranny in power, up- 
holding, as they do, whoever gets 
the upper hand. Had the late 


The Decay of Beligion in the South. 


unhappy Emperor, Maximilian, 
received the support of the Mexi- 
can nation, and, in the confusion 
and exhaustion produced among 
us by the war of Secession, had 
he reoccupied Texas as a Mexican 
province, every clergyman and 
congregation tliere would have 
been bound in Christian duty, on 
the principles acted on by many 
since the conquest of the South, to 
acknowledge allegiance to him, 
and pray for the prosperity of the 
sovereign and government thrust 
upon them at the point of the 

A prompt and frank admission 
that might makes right, that in 
-every worldly undertaking failure 
or success manifests God's anger 
or approval; a return to the faith 
and practice of our Gothic fore- 
fathers, who, after overrunning 
and re-peopling Western Europe, 
had recourse in their lawsuits to 
duels between the plaintiffs and 
defendants, and relied on the is- 
sue as the judgment of God, could 
not more confound our natural 
sense of right or wrong. 

If we may judge from men's 
public acts and professions, too 
few in the South, and the clergy 
•as little as any class, have rightly 
distinguished between a Christian 
resignation to God's will, and a 
forced submission to the power of 
an earthly conqueror. Prisoners 
in body, as every Confederate be- 
came, crowds seem to have yielded 
themselves prisoners in mind, and 
denying their deepest convictions, 
became the ready and apparently 
willing instruments in each meas- 
ure devised by their conquerors to 
complete their ruin and deepen 
their degradation. It is vain to 

deny that many in the South feel 
degraded in their own esteem, not 
from the result of the war, but by 
their own conduct since the war. 
Tempted to recantations of prin- 
ciples and to pledges of allegiance 
by hopes, deceptively held out to 
them, of preserving some remnant 
of political or proprietary rights, 
many have allowed themselves to 
be made the agents in uprooting 
the very foundations of their own 
State. And they have not gained 
by their subserviency the sem- 
blance of a security for any right. 
They forgat that they were deal- 
ing with a people whom it is im- 
possible to trust without being de- 
ceived. Many, even those who 
had displayed most valor as sol- 
diers, have shown little of the 
spirit of martyrs, rather to suifer 
than to do a wrong. Yielding up 
their conviction of right, they 
have shaken hands with the slay-, 
ers of brothers, fathers and sons, 
not doubting the justice of the 
cause in which they fell, but be- 
cause that it is lost. 

ITo man can look earnestly upon 
life without seeing that in this 
world wrong often prevails over 
right. Indeed, while we have 
abundant indications givuii to us 
that there is a rule of right for 
our guidance, the breaches of it, 
and the prosperity attending 
them, are so many and -startling, 
as to lead us to look forward to a 
life hereafter in which ail wrongs 
will be redressed. The destruc- 
tion of earthly hope and trust 
often drives the believer closer to 
his God. It often arouses the un- 
converted sinner to look upon life 
as a state, not of enjoyment, but 
probation. But we have no roas- 


The Decay of Beligion in the South. 


on to rely on material ruin and 
moral degradation, as the means 
of regenerating a whole people. 

Every great revolution, which 
shakes society to its foundations, 
tends violently to unsettle the 
firmest seated convictions, and 
leads many to doubt what they 
have hitherto held as sacred and 
indisputable truth. There is 
much in this world to bewilder us. 
We see that evil exists and know 
not why; that it is often triumph- 
ant; and yet we can find many 
proofs that it is ofiensive to God. 
The instructed yet humble mind- 
ed Christian is ever ready to ex- 
claim, ' The ways of the Almighty 
are past finding out.' Even in 
the ages of heathen darkness, gift- 
ed men, guided by no revelation 
but that which God had stamped 
upon their hearts, have recognized 
the nothingness of human wis- 
dom in all attempts to weigh the 
counsels or measure the plans of 
the Deity. Man knows but one 
spot in limitless space; he ex- 
periences but one point of endless 
time; he sees but one flash of the 
all pervading glory; and, could 
he gaze upon the whole expanse 
of the material and moral uni- 
verse, he might not comprehend 
its relations. As the Creator, 
God has not opened to us his 
counsels, while, as the Redeemer, 
he has made known only his will. 

But this is a skeptical age, in 
which men are loath to search for 
the solid ground on which they 
may build up a Christian's faith; 
while they are open-eyed and open- 
eared to every difficulty in recon- 
ciling God's Word with their dim 
and narrow views of nature, man, 
and the course of this world's 

events ; proudly requiring God to 
lay open all his counsels, before 
they will obey that which he en- 

The doubts and contradictions 
that beset the human mind en- 
gendered of old a creed, embraced 
by many philosophers, and well 
expressed by the Roman poet of 
that school — 

' ' Far, far from mortals and their vain 

In peace perpetual dwell the immortal 

Gods ; 
Each self-dependent and from human 

Estranged forever." 

In thus teaching that the Deity 
exists not for man, they indirect- 
ly denied the existence of the 
Deity. This creed of unbelief has 
never died out, and evil influences 
often propagate it far and wide. 

When the Southern man sur- 
veys the immense tropical and 
adjacent regions of the Western 
continent, in which the soil admits 
not of tillage by the white man's 
hand, from the malignant effects 
of a climate which is yet more be- 
nignant to the negro than that of 
Africa itself; when he recognizes 
the productive powers of these re- 
gions, running to luxurious waste, 
enlarging, not the realms of civ- 
ilization, but of an African bar- 
barism ; when he thinks of their 
measureless capacity to supply 
the wants and elevate the condi- 
tion of untold millions, not only 
those who might dwell upon the 
soil, but yet vaster multitudes 
throughout the remotest regions 
of the earth; when he remembers 
that the peculiar capacities of the 
negro, guided and controlled by 
the skill, forethought and energy 
of the Caucasian race, have more 


The Decay of licligion in the South. 


than demonstratetl the practica- 
bility of this hapi^y result ; when 
he contrasts the almost certain 
future with what might Avell have 
been, and beholds how much is 
thus cut off from the possible ex- 
pansion of the civilized and 
Christian world, may he not be 
tempted to adopt the creed of 
Zoroaster, and recognize in all 
that he beholds but one vast tield 
for the perpetual struggles be- 
tween Ormuzd and Ahriman, the 
Principle of Good, and the Prin- 
ciple of Evil, and conclude that in 
his quarter of the world, Ahriman 
has permanently gotten the up- 
per hand? 

The mass of mankind cannot 
look beyond the local and tempo- 
rary circumstances which sur- 
round them. They mould their 
conviction upon them. Standing 
amidst the ruins of his country, 
with the evidences of a perishing 
civilization around him, and tri- 
umphant wrong lordiug it over 
him, realizing the weakness, foil}', 

and faithlessness of many to 
whom he had looked for guidance 
and example, is it strange that, 
here in the South, many an un- 
regenerated man, many an un- 
confirmed believer should find it 
hard to resist the doubts that 
crowd upon him? Doubt of the 
possibility of human rectitude — 
doubt of the unvarying and eter- 
nal nature of right and wrong — 
doubt yet more horrible — of the 
justice and benevolence of God! 

It is, perhaps, not in the power 
of the whole people of the South 
to reverse the decree of material 
ruin and desolation past upon 
their country. But how far the 
conduct of professiug Christians 
may have tended to its moral 
degradation, let each one ask his 
own conscience, and whether it 
acquit or condemn him , let him 
recognize the multiplied evil 
tendencies of the times, and with 
true Christian zeal labor to coun- 
teract them. 

" Lacon " and its Author. 


"lacon" and its author. 

Proverbial wisdom is uni- 
versally popular; but, few of those 
who have given to the world a 
wise saw, or a proverb, have cred- 
it with the learned, still fewer, 
with the masses. Many a^man 
has a bit of wisdom from Koche- 
focauld which he produces on all 
occasions, to his own satisfaction, 
and the edification of his friends, 
without having heard that such a 
man as Kochefoucauld ever lived ; 
and it is surprising, on looking 
over "Lacon," to find how 
many newspapers are enriched 
from its pages, without the slight- 
est . acknowledgment to its au- 
thor; probably, most often, from 
inability to assign the authorship. 

The author of "Lacon," the 
Rev. Charles Caleb Colton, was 
an oflf-shootof that combination of 
Church and State, which has done 
so much to bring discredit on the 
Anglican church. The following 
anecdote will illustrate to what 
class of ministers he belonged, 
and also serve as a key-note to one 
phase of his character, by no 
means the worst. Contrary to 
the opinion of smokers in this 
country, he thought his cigars 
should have a certain degree of 
dampness, and to secure this, he 
used to keep them in a little dark 
place under the pulpit, because it 
imparted the exact degree of damp- 
ness required ; he did this instead 
of wrapping them in a cabbage 
leaf, which he thought a poor 
substitute for his little pulpit 
cuddy. One naturally thinks in 

this connection of fox-hunting, 
card-playing, wine-bibbing par- 
sons, and the Eev. Caleb will not 
be found to "disable" the judg- 

He was chosen a fellow of 
King's College, Cambridge, in 
1801, and was presented by his 
college to the perpetual curacy of 
Tiverton, Prior's Quarter, Dev- 
onshire; there he lived and flour- 
ished, after his kind, for many 

"Lacon, or many things in few 
words," is the only work of any 
enduring fame that he gave to the 
world. He wrote, besides, " Hy- 
pocrisy, a satirical poem," " Ka- 
poleon, a poem," with strong 
English views of N'apoleon ; "Mod- 
ern Antiquity," and others, nore 
of which have sufficient of Att c 
salt to preserve them from ob- 

In manner, he seems to have 
been kind, agreeable, and sociable 
enough, to win for him warm 
friends among those who knew 
him intimately and were not re- 
pelled by his principles. He 
made no personal pretence to re- 
ligious sentiment, and cannot, 
therefore, be charged with hypoc- 
risy, though, unfit as he was, he 
entered the pulpit and won the 
gown. A man of his talent could 
not but preach with great force, 
and it is said, that at times he 
would be as eloquent as Demos- 
thenes in praise of Christian vir- 
tues. Indeed, in a mass of apo- 
thegms, drawn, generally, from 


" Lacon " and its Author. 

[August y 

the darkest and weakest points in 
human nature, some gems occur 
that illustrate the best. It would 
be difficult to put the point more 
strongly than in this, for instance: 
" Sincerely to aspire after virtue, 
is to gain her, and zealously to 
labor after her wages, is to receive 
them. Those that seek her early, 
will find her before it is late; her 
reward also is with her, and she 
will come quickly. For the breast 
of a good man is a little heaven 
commencing on earth; where the 
Deity sits enthroned with unri- 
valled influence, every safety from 
danger, resource from sterility, 
even subjugated passion, 'like 
the wind and storm fulfilling his 
word.'" Or this: "Vice stings 
us even in our pleasures, but vir- 
tue consoles us even in our pains." 
The following also comes strange- 
ly from a man who made a cigar 
case of his pulpit: "In pulpit el- 
oquence, the grand difficulty lies 
here; to give the subject all the 
dignity it so fully deserves, with- 
out attaching any importance to 
ourselves. The Christian mes- 
senger cannot think too highly of 
his prince, or too humbly of him- 
self. This is that secret art which 
captivates and improves an audi- 
ence, and which all who see will 
fancy they could imitate, whilst 
most who try it will fail. ' Sperat 
idem, sudat multum, frustraque 
laborat ausus idem\'' " which, be- 
ing freely rendered means, He 
that undertakes it will have his 
trouble for his pains. 

I must make an exception to 
the remark that Colton made no 
personal pretence to religious sen- 
timent. Although he would, on 
Sunday, make the most irresisti- 

ble appeals to the consciences of 
his hearers, and " the next day 
gallop after the fox with a pack 
of hounds, fish, shoot, or fight a 
man, in company with sporting 
blacklegs, bruisers, dicers, et hoc 
genus omnep'' he, on one occasion^ 
enacted the role of "When the 
D — 1 was sick," &c., without be- 
ing the sick man himself. The 
circumstance is striking and I 
will give it in the words of one of 
his biographers: "Among Col- 
ton's sporting companions was 
a very abandoned Devonshire 
squire, who had squandered a 
fine fortune, and beggared his 
family, by his extravagance and 
dissipation. Becoming sick, and 
his physicians having assured him 
that a speedy death was inevita- 
ble, he dispatched a messenger 
for Colton , and demanded of him 
an acknowledgment of a fact, 
which he said all parsons' lives 
declared, ' that their religion and 
all religion was a lie.' This Col- 
ton refused to do, wherefore the 
dying wretch, in a paroxysm of 
rage, called down curse after 
curse upon the head of the con- 
science-stricken parson, and im- 
mediately expired. Language 
cannot describe Colton's horror; 
he returned home and shut him- 
self up in his chamber; on the 
following Sunday, he preached 
upon the uncertainty of life, and 
in a most impressive manner dis- 
coursed upon the dreadful reali- 
ties of death, judgment and eter- 
nity, closing his sermon with a 
solemn declaration that he had 
seen the error of his ways, and 
was resolved to lead a new life. 
His reformation, though of longer 
continuance than the morning. 


" Lacon " and Us Author. 


cloud, was not lasting. Three, 
four, five months of exemplary 
conduct and then came the first 
symptoms of declension, in the 
shape of the parson''s grey horse 
harnessed to a dog cart, with his 
gun and brace of pointers, in 
charge of a groom, the whole 
' turn out' for starting, and wait- 
ing at the entrance of the church- 
yard, on Sunday evening, the last 
night of August, to carry the par- 
son, so soon as service was over, 
to a celebrated shooting ground, 
five and twenty miles off, that he 
might be on the spot ready for 
the irresistible first of Septem- 

Colton was essentially an ad- 
venturer and a gambler. He is 
said to have written a tract in 
which it is shown, beyond the 
possibility of a doubt, that when 
in gambling, the chances are in 
the slightest degree against a 
man, he must in the end be ruin- 
ed-. A fact which has been forced 
on most persons, who have tried 
it. After writing this tract, he 
went and laid down his last 
thousand pounds upon the rouelle. 
He won , he doubled his stake and 
won again, and went on doubling 
and winning until he broke the 
bank; but went back the next 
evening and was ruined himself. 
He attempted money-making 
in various ways. In Paris he 
was "a horse dealer, then a 
wine merchant, and then again 
a picture dealer." It is said 
that he won within a year or two 
£25,000. By gambling and spec- 
ulations he lost all he made ; and 
writes thus in ' ' Lacon:" ' ' The 
gamester, if he die a martyr to 
his profession , is doubly ruined. 

He adds his soul to every other 
loss, and by the act of suicide, re- 
nounces earth to forfeit heaven. " 
He is n^t the only man 

" Who never said a foolish thing 
And never did a wise one." 

Perhaps his most discreditable 
mode of " raising the wind" was 
that adopted in Paris, as his other 
resources failed him. He extort- 
ed money from the wealthy Is- 
landers who visited Paris, either 
by black mail or begging. On 
one occasion, when he heard that 
the Duke of Northumberland was 
in Paris, at the coronation of 
Charles X., he immediately said 
that " the Duke is on my ground 
and must pay me contribution 
money." He made a touching 
appeal to His Grace by letter, who 
sent him an order for 25 Napo- 
leons. Then, rather shabbily 
dressed, but bedizened with a 
great profusion of watch chains 
and other jewelry, of which he 
was extravagantly fond, he pre- 
sented himself to the Duke's bank- 
er. "The latter," to use the 
words of his biographer, " struck 
with the brilliant decorations of 
his otherwise half genteelly dress- 
ed visitor, and supposing that he 
was some eccentric son of wealth 
and nobility, bowed him, with 
most obsequious grace, to his pri- 
vate cabinet, and waited to hear 
his brilliant visitor's business. — 
"When it was told the banker re- 
plied: ' Can it be possible, s-i-r? 
You are not the Mr. Colton, 
s-i-r, mentioned in His Grace's 
order V 'The arrived petition, 
s-i-r, can't be yours V ' Let's 
see,' said C. 'Yes, that's it ; 
but the Duke has made a tri- 
fling mistake: in his note to me,. 


" Lacon " and its Author. 


he promised me £25, but you can 
rectify that little error.' The 
banker, however, refused to pay 
more than 25 Louis to the cleri- 
cal beggar, whom the Duke's note 
described as a distressed, sick, suf- 
fering clergyman.''^ 

Some very discreditable cases of 
levying black mail on his country- 
men are told of him; but he was 
not always successful, as he was 
balked in such an attempt by the 
nerve of the Duchess of St. Al- 

The shores of America were 
honored by the presence of this 
clerical adventurer. Before he 
went to Paris, he visited this 
country to get rid of troublesome 
creditors, in 1824. He landed at 
ISTew Port, in Ehode Island, is 
said to have spent some time in 
New York, and to have written 
articles for the New York papers ; 
thence he went to Charleston, 
South Carolina, where he must 
have created a good impression, 
as he was highly spoken of in the 
"Southern Literary Journal." — 
It is supposed that he spent about 
two years in this country, after 
which he went to Paris. 

With regard to the book which 
we have before us, it has been said, 
" That few works have appear- 
ed for the last fifty years, which 
contain more original thoughts 
happily expressed." Those apo- 
thegms, which give the name to 
the book, are mostly too long to 
enter much into the proverbial 
sayings of the world, but they do 
enter largely into current litera- 
ture. "Lacon" is also largely 
embellished with pointed and ap- 
propriate anecdotes. The author's 
knowledge of mankind was not 

altogether, though to a great ex- 
tent, " an acquaintance with his 
weak points, his infirmities, hy- 
pocrisies and short comings." — 
He says in his preface, which is 
very trenchant, "Should my 
readers think some of my conclu- 
sions too severe, they will, in 
justice, recollect that my object is 
truth, that my subject is man, 
and that a handsome picture can- 
not represent deformity.'' Alas! 
that it should be so; but is there 
not enough truth in the statement, 
to make us feel that there is at 
least some excuse for an author 
to say severe things? Unfortu- 
nately, the standard of principle, 
as well for religion ard politics as 
business, is lamentably low. We 
can speak for our own country, 
let these laconics tell the story of 
the country where they were in- 
spired. From these many les- 
sons of worldly wisdom may be 
learnt, or learnt without them, 
forced upon men by their daily 
intercourse. But we are happy 
to know that they are not of uni- 
versal application. A few men 
can be pointed out, here and 
there, rari nantes, whom it is not 
necessary to watch in our business 
transactions. It is deplorable for 
a country when such maxims en- 
ter largely into business opera- 
tions; or when they are justified 
by the conduct of professed Christ- 
ians, or properly characterize the 
motives of political leaders. In 
the opinion of a large portion of 
our people, Walpole's estimate of 
the corruptibility of mankind, 
seems to be taken for granted; 
but we will still believe that the 
" faithful man" can be found. — 
With all due honor be it stated 


" Lacon " and Us Author. 


that Walpole himself refused 
£60,000 to interfere to save the 
Earl of Derwentwater, when un- 
der sentence of death. Whether 
the great minister boasted his 
own virtue, I cannot say. The 
standard of proverbial wisdom 
is vastly lowered since the Son of 
Sirac told us that "A wise son 
maketh a glad father," and "That 
treasures of wickedness profit 
nothing." Now, I have mistak- 
en this generation very much, if 
from one end of the country to 
the other, one does not hear 
" sons" commended more as 
*' s/iarp" or " cwie" boys (atrocious 
idea) than recommended and 
taught to be wise ones. The itali- 
cized words are the key-notes of 
American education. Solomon 
counsels caution against security- 
ship, carelessness, dealing with a 
slack hand, &c., but tells of fideli- 
ity, diligence, liberality, and the 
' ' memory of the j ust. ' ' To adopt 
Solomon's proverbs would be to 
force us to adopt a different stand- 
ard of success than that which 
we practically propose to our- 

"Lacon " is truly "many things 
in few words;" the author touches 
on every imaginable subject; he 
writes de omnibus rebus, et qui- 
busdam aliis, and throws light on 
all. In such a mass of apothegms , 
•anecdotes and good things, it 
is difficult to make a selection. 
Somewhat at random, I will se- 
lect a few, avoiding the longer 
ones, and those that are of a 
more argumentative character ; 
and one of the very best is one of 
the first I find. "Men will wran- 
gle for religion, write for it, fight 
for it, die for it, anything— &«i 

live for it.'''' Does not the follow- 
ing tell the story of " Stonewall " 
Jackson's life and success? 

"Secrecy of design, when com- 
bined with rapidity of execution, 
like the column that guided Israel 
in the desert, becomes the guard- 
ian pillar of light and fire to 
our friends, a cloud of impenetra- 
ble darkness to our enemies." 
The following apothegm is gene- 
rally accepted as true. "Times 
of general calamity and confusion 
have ever been productive of the 
greatest minds. The purest ore 
is produced from the hottest fur- 
nace, and the brightest thunder- 
bolt is elicited from the darkest 
storm." What, then, must be 
thought of the state of a country 
whose purest ores and brightest 
thunderbolts are such as Thad- 

eus Stevens and B Butler, 

after passing through such ca- 
lamity and confusion? The morals 
of the following must be left to 
the casuist. " The sun should 
not set upon our anger, neither 
should he rise upon our confidence. 
We should forgive freely, but for- 
get rarely. I will not be re- 
venged, and this I owe to my 
enemy ; but I will remember, and 
this I owe to myself." What do 
the advocates of The Code think 
of this? "If all seconds were as 
adverse to duels as their princi- 
pals, very little blood would be 
shed in that way." 

The following is commended to 
every body South of the Potomac, 
and especially those who live in 
the track of Sherman and Sheri- 
dan: "Murmur at nothing, if 
our ills are reparable it is un- 
grateful, if remediless it is vain. 
A Christian builds his fortitude 


" Lacon " and Us Author. 


on a better foundation than 
stoicism ; he is pleased with every 
thing that happens, because he 
knows that it could not happen 
unless it had first pleased God, 
and that which pleases him must 
be best. He is assured that no 
new thing can befall him, and 
that he is in the hands of a father 
who will prove him with no afflic- 
tion, that resignation cannot con- 
quer, or that death cannot cure." 
The following anecdote is told in 
connection with Erasmus' doubts 
as to whether he had the courage 
to become a martyr. " Had he 
been brought to the stake, and 
recanted in that situation (which 
no one believes he would have 
done,) I question whether he 
would have found a better salvo 
for his conscience, than that of 
Mustapha, a Greek Christian, of 
Constantinople. This man was 
much respected by the Turk; but 
a curiosity he could not resist, 
induced him to run the hazard of 
being present at some of the 
esoteric ceremonies of the Moslem 
faith, to see which, is to incur the 
penalty of death, unless the infi- 
del should atone for the offence 
by embracing the faith of Ma- 
homet. Mustapha chose the lat- 
ter alternative, and this saved his 
life. As he was known to be a 
man of strict integrity, he did 
not escape the remonstrances of 
former friends, to whom he made 
this excuse for his apostacy. ' I 
thought it best to trust a merciful 
God with ony soul, than those 
loretches with my hody.'' " 

The following, among others, 
does not show as high an appre- 
ciation of the gentler sex as the 
author would probably have had. 

if he had been a better man. "If 
you cannot fill a woman with love 
of you, fill her above the brim 
with love of herself ; all that 
runs over will be yours." Of 
wit, he says: " Wit, however, is 
one of the few things which has 
been rewarded more often than it 
has been defined. A certain 
Bishop said to his Chaplain ; what 
is wit? The Chaplain replied, 

' The Rectory of B is vacant, 

give it to me and that will be 
wit.' 'Prove it' said his Lord- 
ship, ' and you shall have it.' 
' It would he a good thing well ap- 
pUed,^ rejoined the Chaplain." 
He does not say whether he was 

The following is too good a 
repartee to be passed over; it is 
found in an observation on Yol- 
taire. "Voltaire, on hearing'the 
name of Haller mentioned to him 
by an English teacher, at Ferney, 
burst forth into a violent panegy- 
ric upon him; his visitor told him 
that such praise was most dis- 
interested, for that Haller, by no 
means, spoke so highly of him. 
' Well, well, nHmporte ' replied 
Voltaire, ' perhaps we are Itoth 
mistaken.' " 

The recent war has furnished 
an opportunity to test the truth 
of this. "An Irishman fights 
before he reasons, a Scotchman 
reasons before he fights, an Eng- 
lisman is not particular as to the 
order of precedence, but will do 
either to accommodate his cus- 
tomers. A modern general has 
said that the best troops would 
be as follows: an Irishman half 
drunk, a Scotchman half starved, 
and an Englishman with his belly 
full." As we, of the South, are 


" Lacon " and Us Author. ^^ 


now the subjects of governmental 
experiment, the two following 
will have a home bearing. " Of 
governments, that of the moh is 
most sanguinary, that of soldiers 
most expensive, and that of civil- 
ians the most vexatious;" and, 
" Despotism can no more exist in 
a nation, until the liberty of the 
press be destroyed, than the night 
■can happen before the sun has 
set." Colton might have learnt 
a lesson of inconsistency, had he 
remained long enough in our 
favored land, which would have 
made him drop this axiom, or 
amend it with an exception. — 
In a note, our author quotes 
the following from Sir Wm. 
Drummond, which, as a proverb 
maker, he must have envied with 
his whole heart. " He that will 
not reason is a bigot, he that can- 
not reason is a fool, and he that 
dares not reason is a slave." The 
following quartette shall close my 
excerpta. "The excesses of 
youth are drafts upon old age, 
payable with interest, about thir- 
ty years after date." "An act 
by which we make one friend and 
one enemy, is a losing game; 
because revenge is a much 
stronger principle than grati- 
tude." " When the million ap- 
plaud you, seriously ask yourself 
what harm you have done; when 
they censure you, what good!" 
" The keenest abuse of our ene- 
mies will not hurt us so much 
with the discerning, as the inju- 

dicious praise of our friends." — 
Which reminds us of " He that 
blesseth his friend with a loud 
voice, rising early in the morning, 
it shall be counted a curse to 
him." — Prov. xxvii. 14. Blatant 
praise surfeits. Aristides was os- 
tracised for having such friends. 

Apothegms, anecdotes, illus- 
trations might be selected ad in- 
finitum, but my limits, and possi- 
bly the reader's patience forbids. 
It remains only to tell what be- 
came of this unfortunate man, 
who wrote so wisely, and acted 
so unwisely. "For a number of 
years," writes a biographer, " he 
had suffered a great deal from a 
complaint, for the cure of which, 
the knife of the surgeon was in- 
dispensable. The disease grew 
worse, and Colton, goiog to Fon- 
tainebleau, sent for his friend ,Ma j . 
Sherwell, and without divulging 
his intention of committing sui- 
cide, said that he must either 
die by the crisis of the complaint, 
or risk dying under the operator's 
hands. He' made his will, made 
Maj. S. acquainted with his wish- 
es, and after chatting pleasantly, 
bade him good-night and retired. 
It afterwards appeared, that about 
midnight he applied a pistol to 
his head, and by his own hand 
terminated his existence. He 
died Saturday, April 28, 1832." 

A few days before his death he 
wrote a short poem which closed 
with the following stanzas: 

"Devouring gravel we might the less deplore 
The extinguished lights that in the darkness dwell, 

Wouldst thou from that lost zodiac one restore 

That might the enigma solve— and doubt, man's tjrant quell 

To live in darkness— in despair to die — 


The System of English Gang Labor. 


Is this indeed the boon to mortals given? 
Is there no port — no rock, nor refuge nigh? 

Tlcere is — to those who fix their anchor hope in Heaven. 
Turn then, O man, and cast all else aside; 

Direct thy wandering thoughts to things above; 
Low at the Cross bow down — in that confide, 

Till doubt be lost in faith— and bliss secured in love." 


Hardly had the cry of indig- 
nation been hushed at the horri- 
ble developments of suffering and 
ruin perpetrated upon children 
engaged in manufactories, when 
the same Commission was called 
upon to expose still more flagrant 
abuses, prevailing among agri- 
cultural labors in certain parts of 
England, at the details of which 
indignation can only be equalled 
by the surprise and pity aroused. 
Were the facts gathered by any 
private individual, or proclaimed 
under the sanction of a political 
party, people would be ready 
enough to question their truth. 
But the work has been done by a 
Commission of Parliament,* men 
who would conceal rather than 
declare a national disgrace. And 
who, at least in the impartiality 
that has marked their proceed- 
ings, deserve a nation's gratitude. 

It is not necessary now to draw 
comparisons— rather let us state 
facts. Right or wrong, the leaven 
of English abolitionism has, as 
far as the Anglo-Saxon race is 
concerned, destroyed the institu- 

* See Report of the Children's Em- 
ployment Commission, 1807. 

tion of Negro Slavery, but the 
fearful truths of the Report above 
referred to are, enough surely to 
make men wonder if England was 
really in earnest when abolishing 
slavery, and enquire whether, 
among certain portions of her 
laboring classes, a system has not 
grown up to which negro slavery 
ranked as freedom. 

Abuses among the English peo- 
ple are usually examined into by 
a Commission. Tliis Commission 
reports to Parliament, and gene- 
rally a law, if necessary, is framed 
to suit the facts evolved. Early 
in 1867, the Commission com- 
pleted their report, and not until 
then did Englishmen realize the 
horror of the terrible abuse that 
had crept in among them, which 
now rests as one of the darkest 
spots on the escutcheon of a free 

This evil is known as " the ag- 
ricultural gang system," and is 
confined, almost exclusively, to 
the counties of Lincolnshire, 
Norfolk, Suffolk, and Notting- 
hamshire, as also to portions of 


The System of English Gang Labor. 


Northampton, Bedford and Kut- 

An organized gang consists of 
(1) a gang master, (2) a number 
of women, (3) a number of chil- 
dren of both sexes. They vari- 
ously contain from ten to forty 
persons. About twenty being the 
usual number. There are two 
species, (a) private and (b) public 
gangs. The evils that attend 
them both, are similar in kind, 
but the evidence rather goes to 
establish the fact that public 
gangs fare better than private 
ones, i. e.,- those hired, maintain- 
ed, controlled, and worked by the 
farmer himself. 

As was said before, the gang 
consists of three elements, the 
master, women and children. — 
These enter into the composition 
of the organization in no regular 
proportions, but the number of 
each depends upon the character 
of labor for which the gang may 
be engaged, and upon the capaci- 
ties of the various localities for 
supplying either women or chil- 

The question naturally arises, 
in what operations do they en- 
gage, and during what portion of 
the year are they employed? Ag- 
riculture in England demands a 
large array of women and chil- 
dren, and it would not be over- 
stating the truth to say that three 
fifths of the field laborers are wo- 
men and children. There is a 
great deal of light work they per- 
form as quickly and as perfectly 
as men, while their services cost 
the farmer not half what other 
labor would. The women and 
children clean the fields, pick up 
stones, top and pull turnips, set 

plants, hoe potatoes, weed the 
grain, spread manure, gather the 
crops, etc. In most places the 
gangs are busy throughout the 
whole year. Winter and summer, 
it is toil alike. If they become 
cold, wet, hungry, weary, the 
gang master allows them hardly 
a moment's rest before in his own 
words they must "go in again." 

The most important considera- 
tion is the character of the per- 
sons controlliug and working in 
these gangs. Many of those com- 
posing the gang are adepts in 
every species of crime and wicked- 
ness. This would matter not so 
greatly if young children year by 
year were not added to the organ- 
ization, who in turn are cast 
loose upon the world, after having 
served an apprenticeship of six or 
seven years, amid scenes from 
which it would be impossible to 
come forth wHlhout having lost 
shame, virtue, honesty, and every 
principle elevating to humanity. 

The gang master collects to- 
gether a number of women and 
children, and engages with a 
farmer to work by time, or the 
job. In «the larger number of 
cases these men were found to be 
totally unfit for the control of 
children and women, being men 
who did "catch work," who the 
farmer was unwilling to receive 
into his regular employ, " men of 
indolent and drinking habits, and 
in some cases of notorious deprav- 
ity." "With such men as their 
leaders and masters, it could 
hardly be otherwise, than that 
the members of the gang should 
reflect their moral character. — 
The report is bad from beginning 
to end, yet no sadder truth is es- 


The System of English Gang Labor. 


tablished, than that the young 
adult women are the most degrad- 
ed and depraved of all the per- 
sons employed. 

Little children begin to labor in 
these gangs at five, six, seven, 
eight and nine years of age. — 
While the parents sometimes kept 
their smaller ones at home, in very 
numerous cases they made *' the 
employment of the younger chil- 
dren a condition upon which they 
let the older ones go. " As the pe- 
riod of labor ranges from eight to 
fourteen hours per day, it is not dif- 
ficult to comprehend how destruct- 
ive are the effects of a system up- 
on the constitution, which demands 
so lengthened a service from chil- 
dren barely able to walk. Yet 
all this is true with a still further 
terrible fact that the children, in 
addition to eight or fourteen 
hours' toil as the case may be, are 
compelled to wafk a distance of 
two, three, four, five, six, seven 
and even eight miles, each way. — 
Earely if ever has such misery 
been depicted as that unfolded in 
the leaves of the Commissioners' 
investigation. "We quote an in- 
stance or two lest the reader 
should accuse us of exaggeration: 

" A gang master employing 
children, and having had some as 
young as six and seven years, 
used to take his gang to two 
farms six and seven miles, and 
twp or three times, a distance of 
seven and eight miles." Again, 

"Elsewhere a woman, whose 
children began young, some be- 
fore seven years of age, says: 
'Mine have gone four, five, six 
and seven miles,' and adds 'that 
the little ones, even those getting 
seven cents a day had to go.' " 

It is nothing wonderful then 
that the children are overcome 
with fatigue, and that death fre- 
quently results from the mere 
physical prostration and weari- 
ness incidental to such cruel and 
barbarous treatment. Day after 
day these little ones drag their 
weary limbs along. If exhausted, 
they must "go in again." If 
disposed to play, or indulge in a 
pleasant word with their neigh- 
bor, a stroke from the whip or 
stick of the gangmaster is the re- 
sponse to that little exuberance 
of spirit in beings, whose lives are 
worn away and sacrificed to the 
rapacity and greed of their heart- 
less employers. But let the re- 
port speak. 

"A little boy five years old 
used to be carried home from his 
work by the other children, and 
elsewhere, you see the big ones 
come dragging the little ones 
home, and sometimes taking them 
on their backs when over-tired. " 
Another mother says of her lit- 
tle boy, " that he had been six 
miles, and further, to work, 
and had come home so tired that 
he scarcely could stand, and that 
they had also had to send out, 
late in the evening, to look for 
him, and had found him dropped 
to sleep in a cowshed." 

The profits of a gang master 
rarely exceei' the wages earned 
by an ordinary farm hand. They 
are gang masters chiefiy because 
they cannot get other employ- 
ment, whether that inability 
arises from age, misfortune or 
misconduct. Their profits are 
principally made by "piece work," 
for in certain operations, the 
amount of labor tu be done can be 


The System of Englisli Gang Labor. 


approximated sufficiently, to ren- 
der its performance a matter of 
contract. It is here that the ca- 
pabilities of the gang master for 
utilizing the services of his gang 
become apparent. It is his ob- 
ject and his interest to make the 
women and children perform the 
greatest amount of labor in the 
least possible time, and how he 
succeeds by promises, threats and 
blows, the investigation abund- 
antly attests. 

" "When work is taken by the 
piece, it is generally said to be 
harder than at any other time. — 
The poor children, young as they 
are, always know whether it is 
piece work or not, as they say 
' when it is piece work they are 
not allowed to stop one moment 
to rest.' " 

It is the ordinary practice 
among the gang masters to carry a 
whip or stick, not so much for use , 
they say, as to exert a salutary im- 
.pression upon the children by the 
presence of such an instrument. 
Yet instances are recorded in the 
evidence, and cases have come be- 
fore the magistrates repeatedly, 
in which it appeared, the whip 
was used far more effectively 
than for purposes of mere fright. 
Who is to restrain the gang mas- 
ter? He is independent of the 
employer — bound to him only in 
the matter of wages, and still 
worse, the farmers, in the treat- 
ment of their own gangs, and in 
their encouragement and conniv- 
ance at the abuses of the system, 
are proven far worse than the 
gang masters themselves. The 
children are entirely under their 
control, and complaints are use- 
less, where, as it frequently oc- 
VOL. V. NO. ni. 

curs, the parents are dissipating 
in idleness, the gains purchased 
by the physical and moral de- 
struction of their offspring. 

"A mother, whose boy had nev- 
er complained, says, that on hear- 
ing from others of the gang mas- 
ter's ' flogging him,' I looked and 
found bruises on him from it. — 
It would be, as I was told, 
for standing up, or looking 
about or something of that 
kind. I did not notice it for fear 
of making him disobedient. An- 
other mother testifies, that ' one 
of my girls complained that the 
gang master had hit her with a 
spud, but' I told her no doubt it 
was her own fault.' " 

Sometimes, the children were 
cast into the water, at other times 
held up by the back of the neck 
and the chin until nearly insen- 
sible. Again, knocked down, or 
kicked, or beaten with hoes and 
spuds, (straps,) etc. Such, then, 
are the means of punishment em- 
ployed by a depraved, irresponsi- 
ble gang master, upon children 
whose parents are unwilling to 
protect them, and who, alas! are 
unable to protect themselves. — 
The interest of the gang master, 
it is evident at a glance, is ever 
opposed to the well being of the 
child. Slavery at least prompted 
the master to protect and pre- 
serve the health of a slave, but 
gang labor, with most of the evils 
of slavery, adds this one, that the 
person in whose charge the la- 
borer may be, cannot hope any- 
thing from the pecuniary interest 
of the employer. A redundancy 
of population will always insure 
the needed supply of children. — 
The gang master may destroy 



The System of English Gang Labor. 


them as he pleases, by excesses of 
toil, it matters not, others will 
fill the places of those who have 
been disabled — or worse — killed 
outright. The pittance of eight 
or twelve cents a day will always 
tempt parents, whose wages are 
barely sufficient to support them- 
selves, or who may be willing to 
make victims of their children, to 
their own sloth and rioting. 

The gang system previous to 
1868 was largely on the increase. 
The excuse pleaded is scarcity of 
labor. But this cry is very much 
like complaining that one has no 
family after driving off all his 
children. In the portion of Eng- 
land cursed by the operations of 
the gang system, no doubt labor- 
ers on the farm are scarce, but it 
is because landlords have removed 
and refuse to build farm cottages. 
And will the reader know why ? 
The answer is obvious; to pre- 
vent an increase of the x<oor rates. 
They have driven the working 
men out of the parish lest they 
should become paupers, and thus 
increase taxation for local purpo- 
ses, and now reemploy them in 
gangs at a much less remuneration 
than they could do otherwise, 
without the least possibility of 
their increasing the parochial roll 
of pauperism. Forced to leave 
the farms, the laborers must press 
into the villages outlying the 
farming districts. These become 
"cities of refuge" for the sur- 
rounding country, and willing or 
unwilling, into these dens of in- 
famy, filth and vice, the peasantry 
must congregate. Farms con- 
taining from 150 to 200 acres have 
not a single resident laborer. All 
being drawn from the towns and 

villages in the vicinity, coming 
out by day and returning at 

The Commissioners sum up the 
objections under three heads. 

1. The moral efl'ects of herding 
together a number of women and 
children, especially when under 
the control of such men as usually 
constitute gang masters. 

2. The interference with edu- 

3. The exposing children to 
such an excessive amount of hard- 
ship and suffering. 

A system morally, socially, and 
physically bad, cannot have much 
good said in its favor. Every in- 
dividual examined bore unquali- 
fied testimony as to the demoral- 
izing tendencies of the gang sys- 
tem. The mere mingling of the 
sexes in such employment would 
naturally lead to fearful results, 
but how much more terrible when 
under the control of men, who 
themselves are of the lowest and 
most sensual type. The older 
women and children corrupt the 
younger ones, whenever they 
become members of the gang, 
and soon educate them in all 
the vice and wickedness, they in 
their turn had acquired under it. 
Obscene language, oaths and 
curses are the ordinary styles of 
expression. With forty persons 
in a line, the gang masters, even 
if desirous, would be unable to 
repress such proceedings. The 
districts, in which the gang sys- 
tem is found, show a wretched 
state of morals — no less than 
three, four, and even five times 
the usual ratio of illegitimacy be- 
ing registered. Eeturning from 
the fields, the gangs are free from 


The System of English Gang Labor. 


all restraint whatever, and so low 
and brutal have they become, that 
no respectable person, can, with- 
out insult, encounter them. — 
Ninety-five per cent, of them nev- 
er enter a church, and in igno- 
rance and humanizing qualities 
they are but little better than the 
natives of interior Africa. A 
minister testified that during a 
missionary life in Africa, he bad 
" never seen such shameless wick- 

Erom the very nature of the 
system, it must act as an absolute 
bar to even an acquisition of the 
elements of an education. A 
large majority of the children en- 
ter the gangs previous to their 
ninth year, an age too early for 
any progress in, or lengthened re- 
tention, of knowledge. The work 
is too continuous to admit of al- 
ternating labor and schooling, and 
even if a month now and then 
was given, the influences of the 
gang have rendered the children 
too rude and intractable to profit 
from any short lived advantages. 

Yet the educational side has an- 
other phase. The farmers are 
opposed to the introduction of 
schools. The more ignorant and 
brutal the people, the more easily 
are they retained for agricultural 
services. IsTot ashamed of intro- 
ducing and continuing such a 
system, the farmers hinder as far 
as they can, all efibrts for the im- 
provement and elevation of the 
children and their parents. One 
went so far as to say, " that he 
would sooner give ^50 to close a 
school than S5 to keep it open." 
Another, "We don't want schools, 
we can't get servants as it is." 

•In some places, attempts have 

been made to set in operation ' ' a 
half time system," by which the 
children should work half the 
week, and attend school the re- 
mainder, but so far the efforts of 
those interested have been un- 
availing. "With parents and em- 
ployers averse to education, noth- 
ing can be done by individuals. — 
The only preventive is to en- 
force the majesty of law. And 
from present indications, compul- 
sory education ere long will put 
an end to the dreadful evil of 
gang labor. 

The physical hardships and suf- 
fering are almost incredible. The 
duties required are especially in- 
jurious to women and children. 
Carrying stones, and pulling tur- 
nips are very trying on the spine, 
and such labor has tended to 
treble the rate of infant mortality. 
The mothers, in order to make 
the children sleep, drug them with 
opium, and this must be added to 
the long list of horrors, which 
renders the gang system odious in 
the eyes of a civilized people. A 
mere statement of facts is all that 
is necessary. The evils direct 
and indirect arising out of such a 
state of things are innumerable. 
In truth, the whole system has 
not one ameliorating feature, not 
one redeeming phase to soften the 
ruin and misery consequent upon 
its practice. 

To meet the shameful and de- 
grading facts brought to light, 
by the efibrts of the Commission, 
a law was enacted, which went 
into operation on the 1st of Janu- 
ary, 1868. It decrees that no 
child, under eight years of age, 
shall be employed in a gang, that 
no female shall labor with males, 


The System of English Gang Labor. 


that no gang-master shall employ 
females, unless there be a gang- 
mistress employed with him ; that 
every gang-master or mistress 
shall be licensed by two Justices 
of the Peace, which license shall 
be in force a period of six months, 
its issuance to cost twenty-five 
cents, and in no case, to be held 
by the keeper of a Public House. 
It also provides that the license 
shall state the distance, to which 
the children may be carried for 

Such are the provisions for the 
eradication of an evil, unexampled 
for virulence in the annals of 
English history. Whether it 
will answer the end proposed, re- 
mains to be seen. The disease 
has been gently dealt with. The 
moral difficulties have been but 
slightly remedied, while the physi- 
cal are left almost untouched. 
With parents, farmers, and gang- 
masters conniving at the practice, 
the enforcement of the law will 
be a matter not easily accom- 
plished. Every lover of the human 

race must rejoice that the evil has 
attracted attention. The sys- 
tem had advocates indeed: but 
the voice of the people, beyond 
the districts interested, was un- 
animous for the interference of 
the law. Time alone can deter- 
mine the efficacy of the prescrip- 
tion. The diseased branches may 
have been lopped off, but the 
vigorous root will send them forth 
again. Englishmen deal slowly 
and cautiously with political evils, 
yet they generally deal surely. 
However thorough and earnest 
may be one's dislike of the nation, 
all must give them credit for act- 
ing promptly, and the Commis- 
sioners for exposing, thoroughly, 
this practice, so disgraceful and 
brutalizing to humanity. The 
gang system is, comparatively, 
modern, having existed no where, 
more than sixty years. Yet in 
its short term of life, it has al- 
ready reduced to the level of 
barbarism, thousands who might 
otherwise have been prosperous, 
happy, and enlightened. 

1868.] ■ The Fire-fly. 323 


' Tis in the lazy, summer hours — 
The bees are humming 'mid the flowers, 
The painted butterfly's at rest 
Upon the lily's spotless breast; 
Deep in the rose the fire-fly lies 
Awaiting evening's darkened skies, 
Breathes in its perfume, sucks its dew, 
And gathers strength to soar anew, 
When darting through the dusky air 
' Twill sparkle here and twinkle there. 

Just so amid life's flowers, I lie — 
Am neither bee nor butterfly — 
For in these sunny hours, I find. 
That, like the fire-fly, my mind 
"Will always darken if I rest 
Too long on pleasure's perfumed breast, 
And brightest shines, when on the wing 
And feeling work a glorious thing. 
It gathers truth e'en from its doubt 
As darkest clouds white snow give out. 

So, I but sip the rose's dew 
That wasted strength I may renew, 
And sparkle with a twinkling light 
Ere twilight deepens into night. 




Mr. Dickens has "been," he orgy of boot-licking indulged in 

certainly has " gone," and there by a set of super-servile flunkies. 

are many who declare admiringly But he then tried to do full justice 

that he has most emphatically to the earnest purpose — no less 

"done it." than to the great mental grasp 

Several months since, this wri- and peculiar humor — of the first 

ter had occasion to review " Mr. writer of his school. 

Dickens' Eeadings" in this maga- As then predicted Mr. Dickens' 

zine ; and to refer to the wild tour through the country was one 


The Dickens^ Dinner. 


long and steady ovation. A few 

rabid newspapers spattered his 
back with mire, as soon as it was 
turned; but the great majority 
licked his boot with a slimy os- 
culation that must have been in- 
finitely more disgusting to him. 
The more respectable journals, 
however— and to their great cred- 
it be it spoken — were firm and 
fixed in their declarations of ap- 
preciation from first to last. They 
spoke plainly and honestly of the 
strong reasons, the American peo- 
ple had to mistrust the hand that 
had so scourged them before, now 
that it was so cordially ofiered to 
their grasp; but spoke, too, of the 
very good reasons for that same 
scourging and gave a warning 
note for the future. 

But despite the snarling of the 
one, and with little heed for the 
warning of the other, that potent 
American Sovereign — the People 
— rose with one accord to wel- 
come Charles Dickens. They not 
only "gave him their hands," 
but — unlike the constituents of 
Pericles— they held in them good- 
ly sheaves of the " money of the 
the realm." 

If the great humorist saw any 
peculiar appropriateness in the col- 
or of the ofiering, that certainly 
did not cause its rejection. 

The people welcomed Mr. Dick- 
ens of their own free will; the 
people saw him, heard him, and 
thrust their greenbacks upon him ; 
and finally — when all else was 
done, the accredited representa- 
tives of the people— the Press — 
fed him. 

Por some time, this latter pro- 
cess had been in contemplation, 
Mr. Dickens himself, unlike a 

coy young lady, listening to the 
wooers and " fixing the day" with 
prompt celerity. 

The committee, who invited 
him to the banquet, was supposed 
to represent the country; but un- 
less the great city of Kew York 
has adopted the favorite axiom 
of the Grand Monar que, it could 
hardly be said to do so. But the 
guest accepted it in that light, 
believing ignorance to be bliss 
and that there was no folly like 
losing a good dinner. At last the 
day arrived. 

Delmonico's famous saloon and 
his no less famous cooks were put 
under contribution. The Tight- 
est right hands in his employ were 
bid to exercise all their cunning; 
and the most secret nooks of his 
cellarage were ransacked for liba- 
tions fit to pour on such an oc- 

The busy note of preparation 
and the nose-some steam of close- 
completion penetrated even into 
the hungriest nooks of the great 
Bohemia. Wild eyed men, with 
long hair depending lank upon 
greasy collars, blinked in the un- 
accustomed sunlight, and trod 
upon each other's unblacked boots 
in the eager rush before the 
Secretary's door. But, though, 
Delmonico might open no sub- 
lime Porte, the laws of Grand 
Turkey (pardon the pun) were 
inexorable as the Medes; and 
only two hundred favored and 
famished penmen were permitted 
to invest fifteen dollars each, and 
then receive an invitation to the 

When the evening came, though 
the dinner was fixed for the un- 
usual hour of five, the anxious 


The Dickens'' Dinner, 


two hundred were prompt beyond 
precedent. Conversation, broken 
by many false alarms and fre- 
quent eager glances towards the 
door, killed the tinae until the ap- 
pointed hour. Then the tale was 
complete, except the anxiously 
expected guest. 

Five minutes passed; ten, fif- 
teen — yet no Dickens appeared. 

The parlors were filled with, 
perhaps, as bright a set of men 
as could be collected between 
walls. The great guns of dis- 
quisition, the columbiads of ar- 
gument, the mortars of monthly 
literature, the small arms of 
paragraphing, and the pop-crack- 
ers of reporting — all these were 
there— arranged en harhette for 
the grand Salvo to the Field- 
Marshal of the Pen. But as the 
evening of doubt settled down 
over what was to be the grand 
field — one by one the loud reports 
of the columbiads fell into si- 
lence; the mortars grew black; 
the small arms ceased to. crackle, 
and even the pop- crackers lost 
their fizz ! 

In plain English, Mr. Dickens 
was late, very late — and every 
one of his two hundred hosts be- 
gan to look very blue, and to feel 
very hungry. 

A runner, swift of foot as the 
sons of Atalanta, was dispatched ; 
then another, and another. — 
Yague rumors of every con- 
ceivable mishap went round the 
room in uneasy whispers; and 
every member of the Bohemian 
Congress ofiered his own resolu- 

It is a fact, worthy of note, that 
there was no movement to im- 
peach Mr. Dickens! 

Perhaps the diners felt the eyes 
of Delaware were upon them. 

Finally, cloudy doubts vanish- 
ed, and the sun of Dickens shone 
upon the great two hundred; al- 
beit the foot of Dickens was in a 
flannel shoe, while he leaned upon 
a friend and a stick. There was a 
subdued buzz of welcome , but it 
was understood the guest was too 
sick for formal introduction; and 
— Bohemia behaving itself pretty 
well on the whole — the dinner be- 

There are no better dinners in 
the world than can be gotten up 
in America; New York dinners 
are perhaps the best here ; and it 
is probable Delmonico's are the 
best in New York. 

Therefore, all the details of the 
feast, eating, drinking, and ap- 
pointment — which must be taken 
for granted — were all that could 
be desired; and more than one 
guest declared that a more ap- 
propriate and excellent dinner, of 
the kind, was never seen on either 
side of the Atlantic. 

The guest of the evening sat at 
a centre table, at the head of the 
great saloon, with the British 
flag draped above his head. He 
was flanked by Mr. Greeley, of 
the Tribune, who presided, and 
by Mr. Eaymond, of the Times. 

Seven other tables ran across 
the room, so arranged that al- 
most every one might see the lion 
of the occasion. Then there was 
fast and furious mastication — 
violent thrust of fork, and fierce 
lunge of knife: there was popping 
of corks, gurgling of fluid and 
chinking of glass: — and then, all 
was still. 

Everybody — even who had not 


The Dickens'' Dinner. 


heard of them before — has, by 
this time, read Mr. Dickens' 
American books; and everybody, 
of course, remembers the New 
York Sewer, the Rowdy Jeurnal, 
and Mr. Jefferson Brick, as there- 
in described. 

It may have been because of 
their peculiar fitness to heap coals 
of fire upon his head I — it may 
have been because "the whirligig 
of time brings in strange re- 
venges;" — but it has been more 
than once guessed that the Presi- 
dent of the Evening was the 
Editor of the Sewer \ and that Mr. 
Raymond was the original of 
Jefferson Brick ! 

It is rather sad to think that 
the unities were not kept up; but 
Mr. Bennet, who figured as the 
man of the Bowdy Journal, was 
absent; — some said from persist- 
ent and long-suffering indigna- 
tion; others because of a mis- 
fortune in his family, not to be 
mentioned here. 

When the cloth was withdrawn, 
Mr. Greeley made some pertinent 
remarks to introduce the toast to 
the Guest of the Evening. 

To this, Mr. Dickens— though 
suffering most fearful twinges of 
gout, and being besides, as hoarse 
as the raven of his own Barnahy 
J? ucJg'e— responded in an earnest 
and sincere speech, happily put, 
and with not enough humor to 
lessen its reality. He spoke of 
the pleasure his visit had given 
him; of the vast changes even in 
manners, and morals; of Progress, 
with the big P; and of his early 
mistakes and misrepresentations of 
the country. 

While he did not personally 
"take it all back," from Mr. 

Greeley and Mr. Raymond, he 
yet said plainly in effect that they 
did him very proud indeed to let 
him eat their dinner ; he did not 
state any objection to doing so 
frequently; and it was believed — 
by one or two ardent and sympa- 
thetic young nobles of Bo- 
hemia, present — that had Bennet, 
pire, been present, Mr. Dickens 
would have embraced him, offer- 
ed to kiss his cheek and proposed 
to write for the personal columns 
of the Herald. 

In regard to his two American 
books already written, Mr. 
Dickens cried peccavi in a voice 
broken by pledges and promis- 
es not to write another. But he 
stated that he would hereafter 
give up his own paper— or part of 
it — to a continuous vindication of 
America and Americans; to a 
sort of running fire of " taking it 
all back." He moreover prom- 
ised to write — and to make his 
sons and their sons to the third 
and fourth generation — write ap- 
pendices to the two American 
books; and he drew a beautiful 
picture of the cordial and un- 
weaned love of the Britisher for the 
Yankee; of the perfect accord of 
sympathy, of taste and of thought 
between the two. 

Kow, seriously to speak, all due 
allowance should be made for a 
man who has been boot-licked and 
lionized— puffed and enriched — 
dined and wined. But even un- 
der these circumstances there is a 
flavor of Buncombe about the 
farewell speech that may give us 
a suspicion, that many things in 
his America became him more 
than the leaving it. We can read- 
ily appreciate that — seen through 


The Dickens'' Dinner. 


the magnifying glasses of fifty, 
things look very different from 
what they did to the piercing, but 
superficial glance of twenty-five. 
Whatever we, at home, may 
think of our present men, man- 
ners and morals — as viewed 'by 
the light of Charles Sumner and 
Ben. Butler, rather than that of 
Henry Clay and John C. Calhoun ; 
by that of our up-town churches, 
our stock markets and our ab- 
sconding tellers, rather than by 
the hard-fisted cant of Penn and 
the Puritans — it is natural to un- 
derstand that the surface seems 
improved to a stranger. 

"We have more brown fronts 
and are addicted to cleaner linen; 
we wear our hair shorter, and are 
given to a more generous use of 
the fork; and we have G. A. Ks. 
and K. K. Ks. in secret instead of 
bowie-knife fights in public. On 
the surface, we are perhaps 
■smoother and cleaner than ever 
before; but what a seething and 
foul mass of festering corruption 
underlies that surface, one must 
perhaps be in it — if not of it— to 

It is natural then, that with a 
calmer judgment weighing the 
best of everything, as it was pre- 
sented to him; and with his heart 
warmed by adulation, real appre- 
ciation and pecuniary success, 
Mr. Dickens should have sung 
his palinode. We can feel that 
he really meant what he said; 
and can even honor him for a 
full and frank confession of an 
error of his youth. 

But it may strike us that the 
promise to write wp America in his 
particular journal will, perhaps, 
be as evanescent as the bubbles 

that broke in his wine that night; 
and could we suspect the great 
author of being — like his own 
Jerry Cruncher — " an honest 
tradesman," there would seem an 
admirable advertisement for new 
editions of the American books in 
the promised appendices. 

But the most absurd — and seem- 
ingly the most insincere-thing Mr. 
Dickens said was about the Amer- 
ican in England. 

The native Britisher thinks that 
every other nationality is far be- 
neath his own — and none so im- 
measurably far as the American. 
Once he pitied and despised " the 
blasted Yankee." Now he looks 
on him with a fierce loathing — 
with contempt not unmixed with 

The conventional American, he 
still considers a long-haired crea- 
ture, with jack-knife, yellow 
waistcoat and dress-coat at break- 
fast; and — whatever travel and 
association may have done in in- 
dividual cases — what the national 
opinion of the Yankee is we can 
find by easy reference to a file of 
Punch ; to the leaders of the 
Times ; to the Alabama question, 
or to any well thumbed copy of 
'■'■Martin Chuzzlewit !^^ 

Bat I have wandered so far 
from the dinner it has grown cold. 

After Mr. Dickens, the " Kew 
York Press " was toasted, for the 
after dinner sentiments, — like 
those of Charity — began at home. 
Mr. Raymond— noi in the char- 
acter of Jefierson Brick — respond- 
ed in a sensible and condensed 
speech. Then there were given 
seriatim the Weekly, Monthly, 
Boston, Philadelphia, Korth-west- 


The Old Man's " Yesterday. ^'> 


ern, South-western, Southern and 
all the other presses. 

There were responses, long and 
short, scholarly and flippant — 
smelling of the lamp and again 
of bread-and-butter. Long be- 
fore they were half over, Mr. 
Dickens retired from the scene 
with a pain in his toe — but let us 
hope, with peace in his heart. 

He will eat no more dinners 
with us for the present; but, for 
the sake of literature, we should 
hope he eat many another hearty 
one elsewhere, 
"And good digestion wait on appetite." 

One fact about the dinner re- 
flects great credit on all concern- 
ed. Two hundred men dined to- 
gether, with unlimited wine and 
sitting far into the night; yet, I 
have not heard that one of them 
showed he had taken a single 
glass too much. 

One fact may interest your 
readers. When the order of the 
dinner was shown to Mr. Dick- 
ens, he made but one comment: — 

"Iam?-er?/ glad the Southern 
Press was not omitted." 

When that toast was ofiered, 
Mr. Greeley, in a few happy re- 
marks introduced Mr. Edwin De 
Leon — the Editor of the Southern 
Press in the days before the flood — 
as "its genealogical representa- 
tive;" and he briefly responded 
with a statement that the South 
had ever appreciated the Guest of 
the Evening; and that he hoped 
the press of the two sections, " so 
long dissevered, discordant — bel- 
ligerent "—might now reunite in 
the great work of peace and good 
will towards men. 

Such was the Dickens' Dinner; 
or rather, such was Mr. Dickens 
at the dinner. 

That there was some sincerity 
in the utter recantation he made, 
seems proven by the fact that, 
next evening — after his last read- 
ing in America — when untoasted, 
undined and unwined, he said, 
substantially, the same things in 
the self- same matter. 



" Was't yesterday? Yes, ' twas yesterday ! 

It must have been yesterday morn: — 
I stood on the bank of the River Ray, 

Where the squadrons of martial corn 
Their silken banner had just unfurled 

To the breeze, by the singing stream, 
When a vision of beauty, all golden-curled. 

Grew into my waking dream. 

1868.] The Old Man's " Yesterday.''' 329 

' ' I know it was yesterday, — for now 

The rustle I seem to hear, 
As the tall corn parted right and left, 

And a voice rang soft and clear, — 
'Wait, Willie, wait! I am almost there! 

I said I would grant your wish, — 
So I've made a line of my golden hair, 

And am coming to help you fish!' 

" Yes! (why do I doubt?) it was yesterday — 

For I see the soft tassels there 
Sunning themselves in a worshipful way 

In the light of her yellow hair. 
While her voice rings merrily over the corn, — 

' Oh, Willie! come help me through, 
For I am " the maiden all forlorn," 

And my feet are wet with dew. 

" 'And you know I'm coming to help you fish — 

But you'll think me a silly girl. 
For I haven't a bit of bait — but wait! 

I'll bait with a tiny curl! 
And, Willie, say — do you think they'll bite? 

And then, what shall I do? 
Must I pull and pull with all my might? 

But I'll wait, and look at you!' 

"Ah, me! ah, me! teas it yesterday? 

It seems but a day ago! 
Yet three-score years of yesterdays 

Have whitened my head with snow 
Since we sat, in that sweetest of summer-times , — 

I and my beautiful May, — 
Coining our love into wedding chimes, 

On the bank of the Eiver Kay." 

Memphis, Tennessee. 


Mary Ashburton. 





The mail was generally brought 
in, while we were at breakfast, 
when Alfred would glance over 
the letters and papers with a 
gloomy, and abstracted air, then 
throw them down impatiently as 
if weary of the sight of them; or, 
if it was a letter from his father, 
retire with it to his own room. 

One morning — shall I ever for- 
get that day? — the papers were 
brought in as usual and placed 
beside his plate before he came 

He picked up several, glanced 
his eye over their contents, took 
another, looked over that, when 
his eye falling upon a section of a 
column was arrested suddenly by 

" What is the matter?" 1 ex- 
claimed, alarmed out of all my 
awe, for ghastly as death, I 
thought he would fall. 

I ran to him, but before I could 
reach where he had sat a second 
ago, he was gone, — gone, I knew 
not whither, out from the house, 
stricken by some additional ca- 

Too frightened and trembling 
to stand, I sank down by the pa- 
per and took it between my 
palsied fingers, afraid to see what 
might meet my eyes as it had 
done his. In his violence he had 
torn the sheet, so it was easy to 
find what had caused his sudden 
and terrible emotion. 
* Continued from page 2tl. 

Yes, she was married now, — 
had been united for two days to a 
man who, it was to be hoped for 
his own sake, was as vain and 
heartless as herself; and this had 
caused his sudden paleness and 
departure. Poor, suflfering Al- 
fred! it is for this woman that 
you are throwing away your 
youth and existence. Well, she 
was married— and to Moloch, her 
god. The world would flock to 
her standard, and its denizens 
vie with one another in doing 
homage to her beauty, while the 
heart she had crushed was bleed- 
ing like a wounded stag. 

Enough of her! — I threw the 
paper away. Did a sensation of 
selfish relief mingle with my sor- 
row for him? I can only say that 
it was natural if it did; but in- 
tense anxietv banished it at once 
as the fearful efiect of the news 
we had just received flashed upon 
my mind. 

Where is he? where had he 
gone? I cried out aloud. If his 
grief was such before, what will it 
be now? 

"Where has your master gone?" 
I asked of Tom, whom I met at 
the door. 

"I don't know 'zactly, madam, 
I think I saw him go through the 
park into the woods." 

To do what? I asked myself in 
a frightened whisper. 

He did not return that day nor 
the next. 


Mary Asliburton. 


I neglected my usual occupa- 
tions, for I was too wretchedly- 
uneasy to fix my mind on any 
one thing, and wandered about 
the house and grounds looking for 
nothing, thinking of nothing, hut 
his return. The servants seemed 
to be aware that something more 
than usual was the matter, though 
I strove to hide my uneasiness 
from them, and they had a hush- 
ed, scared look that the whole 
place appeared to wear as well as 

On the evening of the second 
day, I could stand it no longer. I 
did not know what his anguish 
and despair might lead him to do. 
Wandering about the house with 
the hope of meeting him on his 
return, to his room repeatedly to 
see if he could have come back 
without our knowledge , till in the 
evening my uneasiness framed 
itself into words, and simply tell- 
ing Melissa of the news, I took 
her with me to the woods, fright- 
ened out of the awe in which I 
had stood of him, and the fear of 
intruding upon his solitude, into 
so bold a step. "We walked and 
walked, but saw no one there. — 
Twilight fell, then darkness, but 
he was not to be seen. Anxiety 
shaped itself into every imagin- 
able evil, and sufiering intensely 
I was obliged, when I could see 
no longer, to return home. 

Every sound that night I im- 
agined to be his footfall in the 
passage leading to his chamber. — 
But the morning came and he 
was not there, so I ascertained by 
the door ajar, and the silence that 
reigned in his apartment. I 
opened it wide and saw that all 
was as he had left it two days 

ago, a solemn hush upon it that 
told of greater desolation than in 
any previous absence. 

"With bitter disappointment I 
descended the stairs and passed 
another wretched day. The even- 
ing came again. I wandered 
about the grounds in restless 
misery, unable to conceive where 
his hiding place might be. 

I was in the garden at dusk, 
pacing the walks in all directions, 
when I perceived a tall, dark fig- 
ure stealing by a side door into 
the building. , 

It is he, I cried, in one respect 
my anxieties removed, and I hur- 
ried to the house as fast as my 
trembling limbs would take me. 
Ascending to his door, I found it 
closed and locked, so I knew that 
he was within. 

That night when all was dark 
and silent, save one heavy foot- 
fall, resounding like the march of 
death throughout the house, I 
stole to the door and seated my- 
self as was my wont, upon the 
sill, there to grieve for him, and 
with him, while I listened to his 
passionate tread, heavier than 
before, and the groans that seem- 
ed to rend his heart in twain, and 
that went like a dagger into mine. 

It was maddening, to sit there 
motionless, with no power to 
comfort, to hear such agony with- 
out the privilege of attempting 
the slightest alleviation. I could 
not be nearer, he would not let 
me comfort him, and all that I 
could do, was to weep at his 
threshold, be one with him at 
least in grief and suffering. 

How little he knew who was at 
the door! who would have flown 


Mary Ashhurton. 


to weep with him since slie could 
not comfort. 

The woman that bore his 
name, the poor heart that his 
father had plucked for him as a 
wild primrose, whose fragrance 
he deemed to be unworthy of his 

I lay there for hours, chilled 
and cramped, yet I could not 
leave him , listening to his move- 
ments and trying to gather from 
them his state of mind. 

He paused in his rapid, irregu- 
lar, movements, and I heard him 
go to his desk, open it, and busily 
engage himself with something 
for a moment. 

A rapid step, — the report of a 
pistol, — a sudden fall. Oh! God! 
he had killed himself. 

I did not shriek, for horror 
sealed my lips, but I beat wildly 
against the door, shook and beat 
till my hands bled. It was fast 
locked— oh! I must get in! 

Should I call the servants and 
expose his shame to them before I 
could do anything for him? Re- 
membering that the roof of the 
piazza ran below his window, and 
that I had heard him raise the 
latter, I ran into the adjoining 
apartment, got out of the window 
on the steep roof, clung by the 
ledge till I reached that nearest 
his room, found it open and 
climbed in. 

The moonlight was streaming 
in on his upturned face where he 
lay, weltering in his blood, shed 
by his own — oh! horror— his own 
hand. A pistol lay a few inches 
from him, soaked in gore, and the 
dark stream oozed noiselessly 
from a wound in his breast. 

Was he dead? With a stifled 

cry in my heart, an anguished ap- 
peal for laelp to the only One who 
was witness, with me, of this 
scene, I knelt to see. Not now — 
not now, oh! God! I cried, not 
from this to take him, not in his 
sin. Oh! grant that life be there 
still. Do not kill me too. 

I put my ear to his lips, my 
hand on his gory breast. Yes — 
oh! thank Him, he still breathed. 
Afraid to utter the cry of thanks- 
giving that arose to my lips, for 
fear that the next moment would 
dash away the last hope, I set to 
work. I had some difficulty in 
getting at the wound, fearful as I 
was that moving him might ac- 
celerate the life stream that flow- 
ed from his side. But carefully 
unfastening the vest with my 
trembling fingers, I tore open the 
shirt which was perforated in two 
places by the pistol balls. 

It was not directly in his breast; 
the ball had taken a lateral course 
and was embedded half way to 
the arm pit, instead of striking at 
the heart where he had aimed it. 
An ugly, horrid wound it was, 
but I was thankful that the blood 
did not flow from a mangled heart. 
From this there might be hope. 
I tore a sheet up and bound it 
quickly, staunching it as well as I 

No time was to be lost. Wip- 
ing up the blood around him with 
a sponge and disposing him as 
decently as it was possible to be 
done , I unlocked the door and 
hurried away for a physician to 
be summoned. 

The apartments of the house 
servants were over the kitchen, 
except that of Melissa who slept 
in the attic; and it was to arouse 


3fary Ashhurton. 


his old nurse that I hastened for 
the purpose. I was up the steep, 
and narrow stairs at ahnost one 
bound , and ran along the dark pas- 
sage to her door. 

She was in a deep sleep when I 
entered the room, snoring spas- 
modically, with her yellow turban 
half on and half off, her mouth 
open to its utmost extent. I had 
not taken time to search for a 
candle, but could see quite dis- 
tinctly by the moonlight flooding 
the little room, under the green 
and white paper blind which was 
partly rolled up. 

"Melissa!" Aloud snore was 
my only answer. " Melissa!" I 
shook her gently, but she still 
slept that deep sleep peculiar to 
many of her race. " Oh! Melissa, 
wake up." This time I shook 
her so energetically that it had 
the effect of partially arousing 

"Hey! what is it?" she cried, 
starting up and looking stupidly 
around her. 

"Up, up," I shook her again, 
■" your young master wants you." 

"Missey's that you? Good Lor! 
how you did frighten me! Oh! 
missey, what's the matter?" 

" Your young master is sick," 
1 replied as collectedly as possible, 
so as not to alarm her out of all 
self-control. "Go as fast as you 
can and tell one of the boys to be 
off immediately for Dr. Green." 

Bewildered, frightened, she had 
hardly the sense to understand 
me, but comprehending from my 
manner the need of the utmost 
celerity, she hurried on her frock 
and ran to the servants' quarters 
as I urged her, while I returned 
to Alfred. 

He was as I had left him, ex- 
cept that the deep stain of the 
bandages told of his life-blood 
still ebbing away. In an agony 
of impatience, I listened for the 
trampling of a horse's feet, prov- 
ing that Melissa had been suc- 
cessful in her errand, and that 
speedy succor might arrive. The 
time seemed interminable before 
the welcome sound was heard, 
and a rapid galloping in the lane 
told me that the messenger was 
off at last. 

When I heard Melissa's steps 
returning in the passage, I went 
out to meet her and said, 

"Kemain outside till I call 

" Mayn't I see him, my honey 
darling, my poor sick child?" she 
cried in a tone of deep injury. 

"Ko," I replied imperatively, 
as I reentered the apartment, 
closing the door, noiselessly, after 
me, for I feared that her self- 
control might desert her, com- 
pletely, at the first view of him, 
horrible sight as it was, and she 
would utter some exclamation 
that would precipitate the catas- 
trophe before the doctor could ar- 

I seated myself on the floor at 
his head, just raised it a little to 
put it in my lap, bending over 
him to catch his faint breathings, 
and feel that he yet lived. -He 
lived, but so cold and clammy 
were his hands, so like death. I 
took one in mine and chafed it 
between them, and smoothed up 
his wild, tangled hair from his 
forehead, then looked down on 
the white, upturned face, for the 
flrst time, beginning to think, — 
though thouarht was dangerous 


Mary Ashhurton. 


then, and wild thrills of horror 
ran through me as the scene, with 
its full meaning, forced itself upon 
my awakening senses. 

What I felt and suffered during 
that time I cannot tell. While 
watching and waiting, sitting 
there with his head pillowed on 
my bosom, the hand, that I had 
never dared to touch but as a 
stranger, lying so helplessly in 
mine, his life fast ebbing away, 
counting the minutes as if they 
had been hours; with old Melissa 
curled up against the door out- 
side, no sound disturbing the in- 
tense, oppressive quiet but her 
breathing, there fell, as it were, 
great scales from my eyes. 

Suddenly it came to me with 
full force , my sin in worshipping 
the creature of the Creator. He 
whom I had deemed perfection, 
as incapable of error, was, after 
all, very fallible, very sinful, had 
committed that most awful crime 
of taking the life that God gave 
him. He was no longer a hero in 
my imagination , a star of purity 
and perfection, but a frail, perish- 
able mortal, subject to sin as the 
worst of us, — and of such sin! 

His sufferings had been long 
and terrible, the deep furrows on 
his forehead showed what his 
mental anguish had been; but 
then the mercy and love of God 
were great too, — could he not 
have cast his weakness upon Him 
and thus gained strength for sup- 
port under blasted, earthly hopes? 
He had been no professor of re- 
ligion, yet his life had almost 
borne testimony against the 
transforming power of the latter 
in its pure and perfect morality. 
Xow how fallen! The morality 

of the world will do in the sunny 
smiles of prosperity, but let ad- 
versity come, and the boasted 
bulwarks are swept away, the 
creature lies there subject to be 
tempest-tost of passion, no sus- 
taining God to keep him steady in 
the paths of right. 

Thus lay Alfred Chauncey — 
and I, who had worshipped him 
as an ideal of beauty and excel- 
lence, that no mortal had ever 
equalled, — was undeceived, saw 
my error as I had never seen it 
before. It was not love nor ad- 
miration I felt at that moment, 
but an intense pity and shame for 
his miserable weakness. So weak! 
to take his own life. Poor boy! 
poor boy ! I felt towards him like 
a mother to 'an erring, sick child; 
all my awe gone just then, and 
nothing but the tenderest pity 
and sorrow for him, while I 
silently prayed that he might live, 
at least, long enough for repent- 
ance and a fitter preparation for 
meeting One into whose presence 
he had attempted so suddenly ta 

As I said before, I had to re- 
spect where I loved, and my 
adoration of him had originated 
in his fancied perfection. All my 
hero-worship was now gone, — 
nothing but flesh and blood after 
all — the fallen, broken clay idol 
dashed to pieces at my feet. 

My heart sickened, I felt as if 
we were both so weak and sinful, 
the worshipper and the worship- 
ped, as if we lay under the same 

AW no, I had not been guilty 
of self-murder; my crime had 
been that of idolatry, — elevating 
a creature to the place of the 


Mary Ashhurton. 


Creator; but awakened at last to 
its power and extent — fearfully- 

I felt his hand growing colder, 
hut the bleeding had ceased as I 
«aw by the fresh bandages, which 
were unstained as yet. 

An hour passed thus; — two 
hours, oh! when would the doctor 
come? There was nothing I could 
do for him, but to sit patiently 
and hold his head. 

I had always felt myself so in- 
ferior to him — not in a worldly 
point of view, or in social position, 
for the power of such vulgar dis- 
tinctions I did not acknowledge 
where true refinement and mental 
culture should meet, but I felt 
myself unequal in so many things. 
He was exceedingly handsome, 
and I thought myself so plain; 
Jie so graceful and elegant in 
manner, I so nervous and awk- 
ward. Then compared to his high 
mental attainments, what was my 
.poor little knowledge? When I 
had heard him conversing with 
others I felt my ignorance so 
deeply, yet more my want of pow- 
er to express myself, which a 
dearth of intellectual intercourse 
liad prevented me from acquiring. 
"We had many thoughts in com- 
mon ; ideas that I had heard him 
express with such grace and flu- 
ency had been mine also, but we 
had never interchanged them, 
therefore he knew nothing of my 
abilities or attainments. Kow 
the awe was gone — awe of the 
poor bleeding object, wounded by 
his own guilty hand— God forgive 
him, I prayed tearfully — oh! come 
what grief may, I could never do 
that. The poor form with the lit- 
tle light struggling in it— ahelp- 
VOL. y.— NO. lY. 

less human creature. The ele- 
gant, the gifted, what was his 
beauty or his grace to him at that 
hour, which the trembling of his 
fingers had prevented being his 
last on earth? ' 

Will he die? I pressed my cheek 
to his forehead; it was warming 
a little. He never moved nor 
spoke; the stern frown yet fur- 
rowed his brow, as if even in un- 
consciousness the resolution to 
die remained firm. I smoothed 
again the long, wavy hair, and 
taking up one of the curls pressed 
it sorrowfully to my lips, for the 
memory of what he had been, 
of what I had been wont to con- 
sider him. So I sat thus and 
watched him as he lay, the work 
of his own — ah! can I say it? — 
wicked hand. 

Will the doctor never come? — 
From a torturing agony of im- 
patience I relapse into the calrri- 
ness of despair, and growing hope- 
less I waited for the end. 

Carriage wheels at last. With 
difficulty repressing a start of re- 
lief, I called Melissa. She went to 
meet the physician and I soon 
heard them coming up stairs. I 
gently moved his head from my 
lap and placed it on a pillow, hid 
the blood as well as I could that 
his eyes might not be startled by 
the sight of the deed at once, then 
went out softly to meet Dr. Green, 
enduring such shame at the 
thought of his exposure to anoth- 

" What is the matter with your 
husband, madam?" asked the 
physician, a portly, handsome 
man of middle age. 

" His pistol went of and wound- 
ed him in the side," I answered 



Mary Ashburton. 


witliout meeting the doctor's in- 
quiring eyes, and turning to Al- 
fred's door with him. 

"Is it that that's the matter 
with him?" exclaimed Melissa; 
" what'll become of my poor 

I felt the doctor's searching 
gaze, but he entered without mak- 
ing any further remark at the 

He was an" old family physician, 
had known us all from infancy, 
so I minded him less than I would 
have done a stranger, yet my lips 
writhed to speak the horrible 
words, and gasping for breath I 
could hardly articulate. Praying 
for strength, I took his hand as I 
led him in and looked him be- 
seechingly in the face. 

" Oh! doctor, his sufferings 
have been terrible. Indeed, in- 
deed they have. In a fit of des- 
peration, he — he hurt himself." 

Without a word, with com- 
pressed lips, the doctor advanced 
with me to the prostrate figure. 

" Is it possible!" he exclaimed, 
then, without saying more, he 
proceeded to work. 

"Tell me, sir," I asked breath- 
lessly, "there is hope?" 

" Yes," he replied, after a rap- 
id examination, " there is hope. 
Thank Heaven he has not killed 
himself, though he was within an 
ace of it, and will be a dead man 
yet before dawn , if every care is 
not taken." 

Melissa had come in now, an 
abrupt warning from the doctor 
having silenced her cries and 

How shall we get him in bed, 

"Can't do it, madam. You'll 

have to fix a mattress on the floor 
till the blood is stopped and the 
ball extricated. That will be a 

We arranged a bed for him a& 
we could, when the doctor had 
dressed his wound, and with the 
help of the man who had gone for 
the latter, and who was called in 
for the purpose, placed him upon 
it with great difficulty. 

A pool of blood lay where he 
had been. 

" Oh! Lor! oh! Lor!" groaned 
Melissa, as she wiped it up, "that 
young marster should see such a 
day as this!" 

During all this time, Alfred had 
not regained his consciousness^ 
but lay still in a deathlike stupor. 

When the doctor left me, day 
was far advanced. 

"Xowrest, my dear madam," 
he said compassionately, "you 
can do nothing at present." 

"J2es(?" I echoed, and shook 
my head as if the subject was not 
even worth talking about. 

Best f For days and weeks, by 
night and day I sat by his bedside, 
anticipating every need, living 
but for him, almost sleepless; un- 
conscious of fatigue, want of rest 
or sleep, my post was there. 

His life hung upon a thread, for 
delirium and brain fever succeed- 
ed the first stupor from loss of 
blood. The deep mental suffer- 
ing of months, the frequent ex- 
posure by day and by night in the 
wet and cold, long vigils and fast- 
ings from food, then that last — 
oh! I cannot speak it now! — had 
done their work, and that terrible 
struggle began between a natu- 
rally fine constitution and these 
contending causes of extreme^ 

(to be continued.) 


Personal Recollections of Eminent Men. 



Mr. Preston's first visit to the 
White House. — I was not yet 18. 
My father thought it was de- 
sirable for me to see somewhat of 
my own country before going to 
Europe, and decided to send me 
to Washington City, where Con- 
gress was then in session. He 
gave me letters to Mr. Madison, 
and others, but put me under the 
special care of his friend and 
kinsman, General B. My re- 
ception by this gentleman was 
cold, stiff" and formal, but not de- 
ficient in what are called the sub- 
stantial kindnesses; that is, he 
was willing to do the useful, but 
was not at all capable of doing 
the graceful. He professed his 
willingness to serve me, said he 
would introduce me ^to the Hall, 
advised me to take my lodging in 
his mess, and said, if I chose, he 
would introduce me to the Presi- 
dent: although he, himself, was a 
Federalist, he offered to go with 
me the next day to present my 

My imagination was much di- 
lated with "Washington and Con- 
gress. The war was in progress. 
Clay, Calhoun, Cheves and others 
filled the public attention, and 
contested the public admira- 
tion. My heart bounded as I 
looked . upon these gentlemen, 
not indeed as I looked upon 
my icy Federalist. Next morn- 
ing, however, I drifted with 
this iceberg to the President's 
house, with thronging notions of 
magnificent scenes and illustrious 
characters. I was very painfully 

impressed with the approaching 
introduction. I was very raw, I 
doubt not very awkward. I and 
my conductor proceeded in the 
hack in utter silence, the General 
not uttering one word. The ap- 
pearance of the house and grounds 
was very grand ; there was a 
multitude of carriages at the door, 
many persons were going in and 
coming out, especially many per- 
sons in gaudy regimentals. I 
followed the stately old Sachem 
with a sort of awe. Upon enter- 
ing a room where there were some 
fifteen or twenty persons, Mr. 
Madison turned towards us and 
said: "Good-morning, Gen. B." 
The General said, presenting his 
victim, "my young kinsman, Mr. 
Preston, who has come to present 
his respects to you and Mrs. Mad- 
ison." The President said to a 
servant, " Tell Mrs. Madison, 
General B. and young Mr. Pres- 
ton have called to see her." The 
President was a little man with a 
powdered head, having an ab- 
stract air and a pale countenance , 
with but little flow of courtesy. — 
Around the room was a blaze of 
military men and naval officers in 
brilliant uniforms. The furniture 
of the room, with the brilliant 
mirrors, was very magnificent. — 
The General and I stood, until I 
felt it was awkward; while we 
yet stood, Mrs. Madison entered, 
a tall, portly, elegant lady, with a 
turban on her head and a book in 
her hand. She advanced straight 
to me, and extending her left 
hand, said: "Are you William 


Personal BecoUections of Eminent men. 


Campbell Preston, the son of my 
old friend and most beloved kins- 
woman, Sally Campbell?" I as- 
sented, I suppose. She said, "Sit 
down, my son, for you are my 
son, and I am the first person 
who ever saw you in this world. 
Mr. Madison," said she, "this is 
the son of Mrs. Preston , who was 
born in Philadelphia." The Pres- 
ident shook hands with me cor- 
dially. "Gen. Wilkinson," said 
she, addressing a gentleman who 
seemed to have been dipped in 
Pactolus, "I must present this 
young gentleman to our distin- 
guished men— Capt. Decatur, Mr. 
Cheves— and yet, after all, you 
would as soon be presented to the 
young ladies," said she, turning 
to three, who entered at this mo- 
ment — "Miss Maria Mayo, Miss 
Worthington, and your kinswo- 
man. Miss Sally Coles. Now, 
young ladies, this young gentle- 
man, if not my son, is my 
protege, and I commend him 
to your special consideration. — 
With you, he shall be my 
guest at the White House as long 
as he remains in the city. This, 
General B. , I have the right to 
do, for while you are his father's 
kinsman, I am his mother's kins- 
woman, and stand towards him 
in the relation of a parent." All 
this was performed with an easy 
grace and benignity, which no 
woman in the world could have 
exceeded. My awkwardness and 
the terror, which had risen in my 
bosom, on entering the fine 
house— all suddenly subsided into 
a romantic admiration for the mag- 
nificent woman before me. With 
something of a romantic turn of 
thought and expression, I said. 

" If General B. thinks fit to be 
divested of the trouble of my 
guardianship, it will, of course, 
be very agreeable to me to be 
subject to the Providence of Mrs. 
Madison. ' ' T urning to a servant, 
she said: "Paine left us this 
morning, and his room, next to 
Mr. Coles', is vacant, that is for 
Mr. Preston. Now, Mr. P. you 
are at home." 

Thus suddenly and strangely 
domesticated, in the President's 
house, I found myself translated 
into a new and sort of Pairy ex- 

Edward Coles* was private Sec- 
retary to the President, a relation, 
a thorough gentleman, and one of 
the best natured, and most kindly 
affectioned men, it has ever been 
my good fortune to know. He 
was an inmate of the house, as 
were Miss Mayo, afterwards Mrs. 
General Scott, and Miss Coles, 
afterwards Mrs. Andrew Steven- 
son. These ladies were experi- 
enced belles, now used to reign- 
ing over, and swaying a multi- 
tude of willing subjects. They 
soon turned me to account, made 
me useful as an attendant, were 
entertained by my freshness, per- 
haps amused at my greenness. I 
rode with them, danced with 
them, waited on them, and in a 
short time, they created , or de- 
veloped in me a talent for thread 
paper verses, on which they levied 
contributions. When I met Mrs. 
Scott, in New York, in 185 — she 
gracefully, and even touchingly, 
alluded to one of these half ex- 
tempores, which, with the tact, 
that made her so admired, she 
had remembered for thirty years. 
*Afterwards first Governor of Illinois. 


Personal Becollections of Imminent Men. 


Being thus domesticated at the 
President's, and regularly ap- 
pointed Cavalier Servante to two 
belles, I was swept into a current 
of fashionable dissipation with- 
out being subject to much ex- 
citement about it, or regarding 
myself as aught, but a looker on. 
The country was in the midst of 
the agony of the war. Mr. Madi- 
son's position was painful and 
diflScult; his labors were inces- 
sant; his countenance was pallid 
and hard; his social intercourse 
was entirely committed to Mrs. 
Madison, and was managed with 
infinite tact and elegance. He 
appeared in society daily, with an 
unmoved and abstract air, not 
relaxing except towards the end 
of a protracted dinner with con- 
fidential friends, after he had 
drunk a quantity of wine. Then 
he became anecdotal, facetious, a 
little broad, occasionally, in his 
discourse, after the manner of the 
old school. His most confidential 
companion was a Mr. Cutts, a 
kinsman of his wife, whom Gen. 
Jackson afterwards removed from 
oflSce. This gentleman habitually 
recounted to the President, over a 
glass of wine, the news, gossip 
and on dits of the day. Mr. 
Madison listened with interest to 
his details, frequently interposing 
questions in a dry, keen way and, 
as it seemed to me, directing his 
inquiries more to personal mat- 
ters than to things of real im- 
portance. He showed more in- 
terest in hearing about General 
Marshall, as he called the Chief 
Justice, than in regard to any one 
else, frequently asking, "what 
does General Marshall say about 
such and such matters?" For 

the diplomatic corps (I forget who 
they were,) he habitually, and 
somewhat ostentatiously, ex- 
pressed the most thorough con- 
tempt. Mrs. Madison told me, 
the necessities of society ndade 
sad inroads upon his time, and 
that she was wearied with it to ex- 
haustion. As she always entered 
the drawing-room with a volume 
in her hand, I said, "Still you 
have time to read?" "Oh! no,"" 
said she, "not a word; I have 
this book in my hand — a very 
fine copy of Don Quixote — to have 
something not ungraceful to hold, 
and if need be, to supply a word 
of talk." She was always prompt 
in making her appearance in the 
drawing-room, and when out of it, 
was . very assiduous with house- 
hold offices. She told me that 
Mr. Madison slept very little, 
going to bed late and getting up 
frequently during the night to 
write or read , for which purpose 
a candle was always kept burning 
in the chamber. When not in 
company, he habitually addressed 
Mrs. Madison by the familiar epi- 
thet of Dolly, under the influence 
of which, the lady, and on no oth- 
er occasion, relaxed the deliber- 
ate and somewhat stately demean- 
or, which always characterized 

As to the graver matters which 
stirred the minds of men at that 
exciting period, I was too young 
to comprehend them, or to be 
much interested in them. I was 
a gay young man, favorably re- 
ceived and considered in conse- 
quence of being in the White 
House, and a pet of Mrs. Madi- 
son, she being universally be- 
loved and admired. When I 


Sheep Husbandry. 


knew her in after life, widowed, 
poor and without the prestige of 
station, I found her the same 
good-natured, kind-hearted, con- 
siderate, stately person that she 
had' been in the heyday of her 
fortunes. Many of her minor 
habits, formed in early life, con- 
tinued upon her in old age and 
poverty. Her manner was ur- 
bane, gracious, with an almost 
imperceptible touch of Quaker- 
ism. She continued to the last to 
wear around her shoulders a mag- 
nificent shawl of a green color. 
She always wore a lofty turban, 
and took snuff from a snuff-box of 
lava or platina, never from gold. 
Two years before her death, I was 
in a whist party with her, when 
Mr. John Q. Adams was her 
partner and Lord Ashburton 
mine. Each of the three was 
over 70 years of age. 

My gay residence in Washing- 
ton, which my father considered 
a part of the education he had 
prescribed for me, certainly put 
out of my head any serious 
thoughts of continuous study, and 
gave me a very decided turn for 
gay society. I, however, was 
soon thrown by him into a com- 
paratively solitary way of life, at 
least removed from the fascina- 
tions of fashion and dissipation. 
Having flashed and floated along 
this bright current for four or five 
weeks, I returned to my remote 
village of Abingdon, Va., making 
the journey of four hundred miles 
on horseback, thus having time, 
during the solitary ride through 
the mountains, to recover from 
the gay and excited scenes through 
which I had passed. 


We wish to present to the 
farmers and ci- (Levant planters of 
the South, some reasons for adopt- 
ing a more extensive system of 
sheep husbandry; — and to en- 
deavor to account for the failure 
which has attended such efforts 
heretofore. Our small experience 
in raising sheep has taught us 
three things in regard to them. 

1st. They can subsist upon a 
less quantity, and cheaper quality 
of food than any other domestic 

2nd. They enrich the pastures 

in which they are kept, sooner, in 
proportion to their size and num- 
ber, than any other animal. 

3d. They destroy coarse herbage 
and noxious weeds, as if by 
magic, and induce the growth of 
tender, nutritious grasses. 

When we add to tbis, the fact 
that in those portions of the 
world where the most enlightened 
system of agriculture prevails, 
and where farming lands are 
valued at ^500 per acre, a farm- 
er's thrift is estimated by the 
number of sheep he keeps in pro- 


Sheep Husbandry. 


portion to his number of acres, 
we must believe that we are very- 
blind to ouranterests, in neglecting 
this branch of rural industry as 
we do. The planters of the South 
have never evinced any want of 
intelligence and energy in pro- 
ducing paying crops. The great 
commercial value of their crops 
of rice, cotton, and tobacco, en- 
riched not only the South, but the 
whole nation. And we believe 
that now, even upon the wreck of 
their whole former system of in- 
dustry, the same intelligence and 
energy, which enabled them to 
contribute so largely to the civi- 
lization and prosperity of the 
world— keeping up the busy whirl 
of millions of spindles in Great 
Britain, France, and Northern 
United States, — will be but turned 
into a new channel after the 
present depression has passed 
away. It is true that agriculture, 
at present, in the South, is at the 
lowest ebb. It is so hard a life, 
and the profits so small, that none 
but those, who have no other re- 
source, are willing to engage in it. 
Yet, as thousands really have no 
other resource, their land being 
their only possession, we should 
•endeavor to bring the wisdom of 
a "multitude of counselors" to 
bear upon the subject, in order to 
give them such advice as will, if 
followed, lighten their labors and 
increase their profits. That ag- 
riculture can, and does, pay hand- 
somely even since the war, has 
been too clearly and practically 
demonstrated by Mr. David Dick- 
son and others, to admit of a 
doubt. Yet, the majority of 
farmers, relying upon bountiful 
Mother Nature, do show fre- 

quently an amount of thriftless- 
ness, which would ruin any other 
business but that of the farmer. 
"We would say that a grocer, who 
stored his cheese in a rat-infested 
cellar, and his sugar and salt in a 
leaky roofed ware-house, had no 
right to complain if he were 
ruined. Yet, we listen with grave 
sympathy to the aggrieved farmer 
who mourns over the ravages of 
dogs among his sheep, and who 
declares it impossible to raise 
sheep because the dogs will kill 
them. He would consider it al- 
most an insult if you were to re- 
ply, "You cannot raise corn 
either, for the cattle will destroy 

If he retains his temper, how- 
ever, he will say, "I have good 
fences around my ' corn fields, 
which exclude cattle." 

Ah yes, here common sense 
comes into play. If he thought 
it worth while to go to the same 
expense to protect his sheep that 
he does to protect his corn, we 
would hear no more of the one be- 
ing destroyed by the dogs than 
the other by the cattle. And the 
interest of half the money invest- 
ed in fences would provide shep- 
herds for all the sheep in the 

A well known agricultural writ- 
er says: "Strange as it may seem, 
the greatest investment in this 
country, the most costly produc- 
tion of human industry, is the 
common fences^ which divide the 
fields from the highways and sep- 
arate them from each other. No 
man dreams that when compared 
with the outlay for these unpre- 
tending monuments of art, our 
cities and our towns, with all 


Sheep Husbandry. 

[August y 

their wealth, are left far behind. 
You will scarcely believe me 
when I say that the fences of this 
country cost more than twenty 
times the amount of specie that is 
in it." Were the interest of half 
the amount invested in fences, put 
into the wages of shepherds and 
food for sheep, the produce of the 
country could be increased ten 
fold. If a farmer, who is allow- 
ing a flock of 300 sheep to wander 
unprotected around his neighbor- 
hood, were to take one hand out 
of his crop, and allow him to de- 
vote his whole time to the care of 
the sheep, he would lose thereby 
the produce of twenty acres of land. 
Say this twenty acres would yield 
200 bushels of corn, valued at $250. 
But his gain would be as follows : In 
England, according to Stephens, 
300 sheep will manure sufficiently 
one acre of land in one week. — 
"When an English farmer says 
that an acre is sufficiently ma- 
nured, he means that more than 
that quantity would be injurious. 
They value the manure thus given 
per week at £3, ($15.) Therefore 
these 300 sheep will bring to the 
highest degree of fertility 52 acres 
of land annually — valued at £156, 
($780,) as compared with the cost 
of commercial manures. Subtract 
the $250 which your shepherd 
would have made in the culture 
of corn, and $150 for winter food 
for your sheep, and you have a 
surplus of $380. But this is only 
the beginning. The next year 
you may count on this 52 acres 
yielding at least forty bushels 
where it yielded probably ten pre- 
viously , and this is a gain of thirty 
bushels per acre, or 1,560 bushels 
in the aggregate— $1 ,950 in value. 

I have estimated the winter 
food at 50 cents per head , although 
in South Carolina it was formerly 
estimated at 20 cents per head. — 
When the Korfolk breed of sheep 
was popular in JSTorfolk, England, 
their winter food was estimated 
at 5s., ($1.25) per head, while in Sus- 
sex, where the South Down breed 
was the favorite , the winter food 
was estimated at only 3s., (75 
cents) per head, and this great 
diflFerence was decided to be ow- 
ing entirely to the difference in the 
breed. Our winters are much 
shorter, and we think 50 cents 
per head a fair estimate. In Sax- 
ony, where sheep husbandry is 
carried to great perfection, the 
quantity of hay considered nec- 
essary is calculated to be one- 
thirtieth part of the weight of 
the live animal per day. In 
summer the sheep, at the South, 
require no food, but only the 
constant care of the shepherd, 
to protect them from dogs, 
and to be regularly folded at 
night, on the lands undergoing 
the fertilizing process. They must 
also be regularly supplied with 
salt. During the last century, the 
number of sheep kept in England 
has nearly or quite doubled. Her 
agricultural progress keeps ahead 
of that of France, just in the pro- 
portion that her number of sheep 
(per acre) outnumber those of 
France. Omitting Scotland from 
the calculation, England keeps 
three sheep per acre to one kept 
by France. But the French are 
gaining rapidly upon their En- 
glish neighbors, under the guid- 
ance of the most extensive of 
European farmers — the emperor 
Kapoleon , whose practical knowl- 


Sheep Husbandry. 


edge of agriculture is carried out 
into results so successful that we 
expect to hear the admiration of 
his subjects find expression in the 
soubriquet of "Metayer Napo- 
leon," as the English formerly 
lovingly denominated their George 
III. " Farmer George." 

Lieutenant-Governor Stanton, 
of Ohio, says in regard to sheep 
raising in England: 

" One thing that struck me 
very forcibly was, that all farmers 
testified that sheep raising was 
absolutely indispensable to suc- 
cessful farming; and that without 
them the whole kingdom would, 
in a few years, be reduced to bar- 
renness _ and sterility. It is in 
this view, that I regard sheep 
raising in this country as more 
important to the ultimate and 
permanent prosperity of the coun- 
try, than on account of their 
profits. Whatever else may hap- 
pen, we cannot permit the virgin 
soil and these beautiful fields of 
ours to be reduced to barrenness 
by the time they pass into the 
hands of our children and grand- 
children. The fertility must be 
preserved at all hazards, even at 
the expense of present profit." 

We have been considering the 
value of sheep husbandry merely 
as a means of enriching our lands, 
and upon this advantage we will 
continue to dwell, although Bake- 
well, the great English farmer, 
scorned this idea as much as a 
Southern planter would have scorn- 
ed the idea of raising cotton on ac- 
count of the fertilizing qualities of 
the cotton seed. But we are so 
far behind our English friends in 
farming — not in planting — that 
we must not attempt to overtake 

them at a single step. Let us 
enrich our lands first, and then 
we can, like Bakewell, talk of the 
fineness of the fleece, and the 
flavor of the mutton. 

As an instance of the intelli- 
gence and energy of a Southern 
planter, even under the most ad- 
verse circumstances, we will again 
refer to Mr. David Dickson, of 
Georgia. He takes the agri- 
cultural position at the South, 
which the late Earl of Leices- 
ter recently occupied in Eng- 
land, and makes his piney 
woods land yield at the rate of 
2,700 pounds cotton per acre, by 
expending ^17 per acre in bone 
dust, guano, and plaster. (See 
Southern Cultivator, March 1868, 
page 87.) Let us suppose the case 
of two young farmers located in 
Mr. Dickson's neighborhood, and 
determined to follow his example 
in expenditure upon their lands. 
We will suppose each to have 
$4,000 in bank stock, the annual 
interest of which they determine to 
devote to the enrichment of their 
lands. Thefirst closely follows Mr. 
Dickson's footsteps, and lays out 
his $400, per year, in commercial 
manures at the rate of $17 per 
acre, extending over something 
less than 24 acres. He acts wise- 
ly, but might he not do better 
still. His neighbor puts $750 of 
his capital into sheep, (at $2.50 
per head) leaving $3,250; the inter- 
est of which he devotes to pur- 
chasing food for them, and pay- 
ing his shepherd. He manures 
"sufficiently" in the English 
sense of the word, 52 acres in the 
course of a year, more than double 
the amount manured by his neigh- 
bor, and still has his wool and the 


Sheep Hushandrif. 


increase of his flock;— which latter 
items, however, we have agreed 
not to take into consideration. 
Let us simply consider the fact 
that the one enriches 52 acres, 
while the other does not enrich 
quite 24. The purchaser of com- 
mercial manures is sometimes im- 
posed upon by dishonest dealers, 
but the owner of the sheep runs no 
such risk. We do not wish to dis- 
courage farmers from purchasing 
commercial manures, however; on 
the contrary, we cite Mr. Dick- 
son's success with them as an in- 
ducement to use them; but we 
wish, also, to convince our friends 
that if a corn field is worth a 
fence, a flock of sheep is also 
worth a shepherd. Where farm- 
ers own too small a number to 
justify the employment of a shep- 
herd, let them form a cooperation 
society, and put their sheep to- 
gether, or better still, let them 
sell their sheep to those who have 
capital enough to take care of 
them. Although most farmers 
assign the ravages of the dogs, as 
the reason of their failure in sheep 
raising, yet, a few assert that 
even if this difiiculty were re- 
moved, the deficiency of pastur- 
age would be an insuperable ob- 
jection, and that we cannot 
raise the large root crops upon 
which the flocks of England, 
Trance, and Germany are chiefly 
fed. This objection comes from 
farmers, who are not willing to 
purchase food. It is probably 
true that our climate and present 
system of labor will prevent the 
culture of roots as a field crop, 
but there is no such difiiculty 
with clover. Any land which 
will produce 15 bushels of corn 

per acre, will, if deeply plowed, 
and well pulverized with a roller, 
bring fine and abundant crops of 
clover. Where sheep are pastur- 
ed for any length of time, the 
grasses best suited to them, spring 
up naturally — it seems as if God's 
blessing followed the innocent 
creatures since Abel's day: and 
that they, above all other created 
animals, were formed for the 
special service of man. Abel, of 
course, did not use his flock for 
food , as animal food was not per- 
mitted at that time, but they, no 
doubt, abundantly repaid his care, 
in destroying the thistles and 
noxious weeds which sprang up 
in obedience to the curse, and in 
promoting the vigorous growth of 
the ' ' trees for meat, " which God 
had appointed for their suste- 

"At an agricultural meeting in 
Boston, one of the speakers re- 
marked, that on a tract of land 
which was overrun with wood 
box , briars and other shrubs, he 
turned one hundred and fifty 
sheep. At that time a cow could 
not have lived on the whole tract. 
The sheep were kept there several 
years, and so killed cut the wild 
growth that the tract now aftords 
good pasture for fifteen cows." 

Sheep are Kature's landscape 
gardeners. They cut the grass, 
which grows green and tender 
under their enriching tread, with 
their small, clipping teeth, as 
short as the finest bladed English 
scythe would do;— and although 
they will nibble roses and shrubbe- 
ry a little, they do them no material 
injury, unless farced to by starva- 
tion. Neither will they injure 
the bark of young fruit trees, un- 


Shee20 Husbandry. 


less other food is denied them; 
and it is asserted that canker 
worms are never found in orchards 
where sheep are folded. In the 
old world, " stock" and " high" 
farming are synonymous terms, 
and the stock consists principally 
of sheep. They are suited to the 
extreme of civilization, and to the 
simplicity of primitive habits. — 
They are found around the park 
gates of the European prince, and 
around the hut of the New Zea- 
land emigrant; — on the torrid 
plains of Africa, and in the snow- 
bound valleys of Iceland. Where- 
ever man finds a home, his faith- 
ful, woolly friend accommodates 
itself to his surroundings— fur- 
nishing food and clothing for him- 
self and his little ones, and en- 
riching his lands. We will close 
by a description of the general 
management of sheep farms on 
the Pampas of South America. 

"The farmers usually divide 
their sheep into flocks of a thou- 
sand each. In a very few instan- 
ces a flock is permitted to grow to 
the size of two or even three thou- 
sand, and is kept up to that num- 
ber. But the prevailing rate of 
increase being about thirty-three 
and a third per cent., a flock of a 
thousand, having doubled itself in 
three years, is, at the end of that 
time, divided into two. In this 
way flocks continue to be multi- 

plied until, in some cases, two 
hundred thousand sheep may be 
seen feeding on a single farm. If 
flocks are allowed to exceed a 
thousand or fifteen hundred each, 
the proportion of loss in lambs is 
largely increased. The annual 
loss in lambs has heretofore been 
from ten to fifteen per cent. 
"There is no necessity of feeding, 
summer or winter. One man, as- 
sisted by a small boy, can do 
all the work essential to the care 
of a large flock. The ordinary 
conditions of agreement between 
proprietors and shepherds are few 
and simple. If the shepherd's 
compensation for bis services is to 
be an interest in the flock, the 
customary stipulations are that 
he shall bear the expenses of su^ 
perintending and shearing; shall 
take from his charge meat sufii- 
cient for himself and his family, 
and shall receive one-third of the 
yearly increase, both of lambs 
and wool. On the other hand, 
the proprietor furnishes pasture, 
pens for folding, and a dwelling 
house for the shepherd's family. 
The contract is generally made 
for three years. At the end of 
that time the shepherd has a fine 
flock of his own, and is able to 
commence business for himself — 
he is an independent estandero, 
with a career open to a handsome 


Helen Ashley, or, The Sefugce at Home. [August, 




" While the perfumed lights 
Stole thro' the mists of alabaster lamps, 
And every air was^heavy with the sighs 
Of orange groves, and music from sweet lutes, 
And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth 
I' the midst of roses." 

[Bulioer's ' Lady of Lyons. ' 

It is night. The moon is shed- 
ding her soft radiance over one of 
the many fair and luxurious homes 
to be found on the sea-coast of 
South Carolina. Though as late 
in the season as October, the 
evening is yery warm, for the 
charming Indian summer lingered 
on, as though loath to leave such 
fair scenes to the cold domain of 
winter. As yet, the Ice- king had 
sent no herald of his approach, 
and the noble mansion, the ma- 
jestic oaks, the smooth green 
lawn, and the blue water of the 
river, all smiled calmly in the 
clear moonlight. 

Mrs. Ashley, the mistress of 
this peaceful home , had been left 
a widow at the early age of 
twenty-one. At her husband's 
death, the care of a large property 
and two little children devolved 
upon her. With all her sweet 
and gentle manners, Mrs. Ashley 
possessed much strong good sense; 
which she now showed iu the 
management of her property and 

children. The eldest, our sweet 
Helen, proved an easy charge; 
and even for Charlie, wild and 
head-strong as he was, Mrs. Ash- 
ley feared little, for, surely, with 
so warm and generous a heart, he 
could not go far astray. 

Very fair and bright was Ash- 
ley Hall, on that soft October 
night. The stately mansion was 
brilliantly lighted , and the many 
forms, flitting joyously about, in 
the parlors, on the broad piazza, 
and even on the lawn, speak it a 
gala night. And well it may be, 
for on that day sweet Helen Ash- 
ley has completed her seventeenth 
year, and the proud and happy 
mother has invited her friends, 
for many miles around, to cele- 
brate the commencement of her 
only daughter's young ladyhood. 

In the luxurious drawing-room, 
the centre of a group of matrons, 
sits Mrs. Ashley. Reclining in a 
large arm chair, the crimson back 
of which sets off her stately form 
to the greatest advantage, she 


Helen Ashley, or, The Refugee at Home. 


does the honors of her elegant 
home, with the easy gracefulness 
of the high-born Southern lady. 
Her face is still beautiful, for she 
has seen scarce thirty-five sum- 
mers, but her rich dark hair is 
almost hidden by the widow's 
cap, put on for her young hus- 
band fourteen years before, and 
worn ever since. She still wears 
her weeds, too, and would be 
greatly hurt were any one to hint 
at her making a change. At the 
moment we see her, she is speak- 
ing to a tall boy of fifteen, whom 
she calls, "my son." That is 
Charlie, with his large bright blue 
eyes and glossy curling hair; so 
like the handsome young father, 
he cannot even remember, sleep- 
ing under the dark cypress, in the 
quiet family burial-place, by the 
river. The boy's cheek is flushed 
with dancing, for, although so 
young, his early wit, saucy gaiety 
and beautiful dancing, make him 
the chosen partner of many a fair 
belle several years his senior. 

But where is Helen, the gentle 
queen of these gay revels? Not 
in the dancing room, not in the 
parlor, not even in the lawn. — 
She has not been seen for the l?.st 
half hour, and more than one 
comment has been made on her 
absence. But Charlie says, in re- 
ply to his partner, pretty Minnie 
Claire's exclamation of "Where 
can Helen be," "Oh, I suppose 
she is somewhere with Allan St. 
John. I see he has disappeared 

" Now, Charlie, do you know 
that is a match I cannot under- 
stand? I wonder Helen fancies 
him, he seems so cold and proud. 

while she is so merry and warm- 

" But Allan is not cold," re- 
turned Charlie eagerly; "and as 
for being proud, why I like that. 
Has not a Southern gentleman a 
right to be proud? I tell you 
what. Miss Minnie, I, for one, am 
as proud as Lucifer." 

" Oh, Charlie," laughs Minnie, 
" I did not think you would al- 
low such a thing. You men are 
getting so bold in your wicked- 
ness. I don't know where it will 

Charlie colors high at her laugh- 
ing words, but answered merrily. 

"I know I'm not a man yet, 
Miss Minnie, and that's well for 
you. If you find me so irresistible 
at fifteen, what loould be the state 
of your heart if I was twenty- 
five? But this is a charming 
waltz. Will you dance?" 

" Well, as you just said I found 
you irresistible, I suppose I must ;" 
and turning from the cool piazza, 
they again sought the dancing 

While we leave them to enjoy 
the waltz, let us ascertain if Char- 
lie is right in his suggestion that 
" Helen is somewhere with Allan 
St. John." 

On one side of the lawn, slop- 
ing down to the river, lay a beau- 
tiful flower-garden ; on the other, 
a thick grove of orange trees, 
planted in regular rows, three 
abreast, with gravel walks be- 
tween. They were a magnificent 
sight, particularly at this season, 
with their golden fruit gleaming 
in the moonlight, among the rich, 
dark leaves. 

There indeed we find Helen, 
and with her, St. John. They are 


Helen Ashley, or, The Eefugee at Home. [August, 

standing still, and by the light of 
the friendly moon, we can see 
them distinctly. How very love- 
ly Helen is, in her snowy dress, 
with necklace and bracelets of 
pearl. Her rich brown hair is 
drawn simply back from her tem- 
ples, and fastened behind in a 
large knot, very low on her neck, 
its only ornament a white rose 
with its dark green leaves. Her 
liquid brown eyes are veiled by 
their long lashes, as though afraid 
to meet her companion's earnest 

And most worthy was St. John 
to be the lover of that gentle girl. 
Tall, and strikingly handsome, 
with a grave, earnest face, now 
lit up with passionate love, he 
stands beside her. One arm is 
around her waist, her hand is 
clasped in his, and as we draw 
near, his low, musical voice is 

"In two years, my darling, 
your mother says you shall be 
mine. It seems a long time to 

wait, but I fear not, for I know 
and feel that your love will never 

And her sweet voice answered: 

"Change! Oh, Allan, I could 
not live without your lovel" 

And here let us leave them, 
happy in their love and trust. — 
Leave them in their bright, sunny 
home, their young hearts filled 
with hope, and apparently no 
cloud in their fair sky. Ko cloud, 
did I say ? Alas, the little cloud , 
"no larger than a man's hand," 
is rising, and soon, soon will it 
burst over that devoted land. 

It was early in October of '60. 
To Southern ears I need not re- 
peat the dreadful tale of all that 
the next short year brought forth. 
The proud heroic patriotism, the 
noble self-devotion, the dauntless 
courage; and oh! the bitter tears, 
the costly life-blood that bought 
our victories; the deserted homes, 
the woe and desolation , are en- 
graven on the heart of every lib- 
erty-loving Southerner. 


" Come let the burial rite be read — the funeral song be sung! — 
An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young — 
A dirge for her, the doubly dead, in that she died so young!" 

[Edgar A. Poe''s " Lenore.''^ 

The two years which Mrs. Ash- 
ley had stipulated should pass be- 
fore the marriage of her daughter, 
are over. The day, to which 
Helen and St. John had looked 
forward so eagerly and confident- 
ly, had at length arrived. 

Let us hasten to beautiful Ash- 
ley Hall, to witness the gay revels 

there. As we near the place, we 
do indeed hear sounds of merri- 
ment, but can those loud voices, 
and that coarse laughter proceed 
from the polished and high-born 
guests, who were wont to grace 
thehobleold mansion. We pass 
through the broad oak avenue 
and observe with wonder how 


Helen Ashley, or, The Befugee at Home. 


neglected is its appearance. By a 
sudden turn we come in front of 
the house. Without pausing to 
notice that the lawn is overgrown 
with weeds, the beautiful flower- 
garden a ruin, and even many of 
the orange trees cut down, our 
gaze is riveted on the house itself. 
On the piazza, in the parlor, 
lounging in the luxurious chairs 
and on the sofas, are scattered 
groups of dirty, half-dressed, ne- 
groes. One of them is even strik- 
ing on the piano, while others 
dance to the uncouth sounds. 
Can this be the home of the Ash- 
leys'? Alas, it is now in the 
hands of our cruel and vindictive 
foes, who have abandoned it to 
the negroes. 

"We turn with horror from so 
revolting a scene to seek the noble 
family, now driven into exile and 

Far away, in one of the upper 
districts of South Carolina, there 
is a small and sparsely furnished 
cottage. In one of the rooms, 
on a low couch drawn near the 
window, lies a j'oung girl. In 
that worn and pallid face, we can 
scarcely recognize the once bloom- 
ing Helen. The rounded, grace- 
ful form is wasted to a shadow, 
and the wistful, brown eyes retain 
nothing of by-gone- days, save 
their gentle, loving softness. — 
Their brightness has been dimmed 
by bitter tearrs, and sorrow and 
suffering have almost entirely 
quenched the hope that,once shone 
so purely in their liquid depths. 
The beautiful hair is still drawn 
back as of yore, and you may 
plainly trace the blue veins in the 
fair temples. Beside her sits her 
mother. In spite of the close 

cap, you see that sorrow has 
thickly streaked her hair with 
grey. The stately form is bowed 
and the face is worn and weary. 

And why is St. John absent 
from his promised bride, now that 
she is ill, in poverty and exile? 
Alas! he has fallen, one of the 
many victims on the altar of free- 
dom, lie rests where he fell, on 
the bloody field of the second 
Manassas. A simple cross marks 
the place of his grave, raised by 
his comrades, that he may, at 
some future day, be moved to his 
island home. On the cross his 
name is cut. 

" Private Allan St. John, Pal- 
metto Guards, 2d Regiment S. C. 

Yes, with all his talent, wealth 
and aristocratic birth, St. John 
died a private. Possessed of 
neither a military education, nor 
peculiar military skill, he sought 
no office, but was content to die 
with no higher title than that of 
being a gentleman private; yet, 
methinks, no purer, nobler name 
can be borne in such a struggle 
for liberty. For his country, and 
for her alone, he fought; and no 
thought of self mingled its alloy 
with the pure gold of his patriot- 

A few short months after the 
date of our last chapter, when 
South Carolina called upon her 
sons to rally around the walls of 
Sumter, St. John hastened to join 
the patriot band under the com- 
mand of the gallant and lamented 
Captain Cuthbert. As a member 
of the Palmet